AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


AN 

OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 

By 
WOLCOTT  JOHNSON 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG    &  CO. 
1905 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

A.     C.     McCLUKG    &    CO. 

1905 


Published  April  15,  1905 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

I.     THE  FROLIC  OF  THE  LEAVES       .     .  9 

II.     THE    HAPPY    CLOSE    OF    A    DISAP- 
POINTING DAY 1 8 

III.  FAREWELL  TO  OUR  BABY  GIRL  .     .  az 

IV.  THE  FOND  FATHER  GOES  AWAY  FROM 

HOME 31 

V.     A  TALE  OF  WOE 39 

VI.       A    "COMMONPLACE"    SUNDAY        .       .  44 

VII.     "ON'Y  POOTY  DOOD"      ....  53 

VIII.     ALMOST  BUCOLIC 61 

IX.     STILL  BUCOLIC — ALMOST  ....  68 
X.     SUNDAY    MORNING    AT    HOME  —  A 

FRAGMENT 72 

XL     AN  EVENING  WITH  THE  ANIMALS  IN 

THE  PARK 75 

XII.     FOURTH    OF   JULY — A   TRYING   IN- 
CIDENT ON  THE  RIVER     ....  79 
XIII.     WE    TAKE   THE    CHILDREN  TO  THE 

FAIR 9* 

v 


2229058 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

XIV.     ADA'S  BIRTHDAY  PARTY   .     .     .  106 

XV.     TRYING  TO  TOUCH  BOTTOM  .     .  nz 
XVI.     THE    GRANDMA'S     EIGHTIETH 

BIRTHDAY 116 

XVII.     IN  A  REMINISCENT  MOOD  —  OUR 

COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE      .  124 

XVIII.     HOW  WE  SPENT  ONE  CHRISTMAS  143 
XIX.     AGAIN     REMINISCENT  —  OUR 

HONEYMOON  ABROAD     .     .     .  160 

XX.     THE  HUMOR  OF  IT       .     .     .     .  166 

XXI.     THE  SENTIMENTAL  SIDE  OF  IT  .  179 

XXII.     A  DIP  INTO  HISTORY       .     .     .  185 

XXIII.  IN    OSTEND,  BUT   NOT   OF   IT    .       .  191 

XXIV.  SOMEWHAT  LOST  IN  LONDON   .  199 
XXV.  IN  SCOTLAND  AND  THE  LAKE 

COUNTRY 207 

XXVI.     BETWEEN  SEA  AND  SKY      .     .     .  214 
XXVII.     OUR    FIRST    OUTING    SINCE    THE 

CHILDREN  CAME 219 

XXVIII.     STORY  OF  Six  HAPPY  YEARS      .  237 

XXIX.     A  DAY  OF  DAYS 249 

XXX.     LAST  WORDS 257 


AN   OLD    MAN'S    IDYL 


THE  FROLIC  OF  THE   LEAVES 

NOVEMBER  25,  1879.  — I  have  just 
come  home  from  a  walk  with  the  chil- 
dren, and  find  myself  strangely  stirred  by  a 
trifling  incident.  As  we  neared  a  wind-swept 
corner  of  the  highest  height  overlooking  the 
river  a  small  avalanche  of  leaves  came  swoop- 
ing down  upon  us  from  the  west,  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  another  from  the  north.  The  two  air 
currents  met  at  the  very  point  where  we  stood 
watching  the  elemental  play.  The  rival  cur- 
rents utilized  us  as  a  pivot,  and  in  a  moment 
myriad  rustling  leaves  were  closing  in  and 
whirling  in  a  merry  dance  about  us.  The 
9 


AN    OLD    MAN'S    IDYL 


girls  fairly  screamed  with  glee.  Never  before 
had  they  seen  Mother  Nature  in  such  a  rol- 
licking mood,  and  they  eagerly  accepted  her 
invitation  to  join  in  the  frolic.  I  took  a  seat 
upon  a  bank  of  green  near  by  to  watch  the 
fun. 

There  was  a  moment's  calm,  followed  by 
a  fierce  gust  from  the  west,  which  sent  the 
leaves  flying  helter-skelter  down  the  hill.  My 
coltish  four-year-old  started  in  swift  pursuit 
of "  the  fairies,"  and  the  clumsier  two-year- 
old  went  tumbling  after.  The  little  one 
slowly  picked  herself  up  and  came  limping 
toward  me,  crying  "  Pa-a-pa  !  Pa-a-pa  !  "  with 
that  circumflex  of  woe  which  our  little  one  so 
well  knows  how  to  use. 

Meantime  the  wind  had  shifted,  and  the 
scurrying  army  of  leaves,  as  if  panic-stricken, 
speedily  executed  an  about-face  and  retreated 
up  the  hill.  Ada,  the  elder,  entered  into  the 
fun  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her  highly 
10 


THE   FROLIC    OF  THE   LEAVES 

strung  nature,  laughing  at  the  top  of  her  voice 
as  she  ran,  her  arms  out  and  her  fingers  spread. 
Marie,  though  almost  blinded  with  tears, 
speedily  caught  the  contagion  of  laughter, 
between  laughs  exclaiming,  "  Papa,  yee  me ! 
Papa,  yee  me  !  "  (I  may  add  right  here  that 
the  key  to  Marie's  pronunciation  is  the  sub- 
stitution of  y  for  s  and  w  for  f.) 

The  wind  subsided.  The  leaves  lay  heaped 
in  a  straggling  pile  in  the  centre  of  the  street, 
like  a  huge  coil  more  or  less  broken  in  the 
winding.  Soon  the  little  ones  were  rolling  in 
the  leaves,  now  one,  now  the  other  on  top. 
Next  they  pelted  each  other  with  leaves,  the 
smaller  standing  her  ground  right  manfully, 
or  boyfully,  though  outclassed  in  height  and 
weight. 

Then  came  a  change.     A  spiteful  gust  and 

whirl  unwound  the  coil,  and  the  outer  line 

started  off  with  a  rush  down  the  hill,  pursued 

by  the  main  body  of  the  fairies.    The  battalion 

1 1 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


of  pursuers  moved  on  the  deserters,  not  in 
soldierly  order,  but  first  with  boyish  hop,  skip, 
and  jump,  and  then  with  a  wild  flight  in  air 
—  every  fairy  for  himself.  The  children 
joined  in  hopeless  pursuit  of  the  pursuers, 
glad  to  take  even  a  losing  part  in  the  game. 
Then  back  again  came  the  rustling  battalion, 
first  surrounding,  then  passing  the  deserters. 

As  the  little  ones  ran  past  me  the  older 
cried  out,  "  Such  fun,  papa  !  "  and  the  younger 
repeated  the  words,  "  Yut  wun  !  " 

Finally  the  two,  tired  and  flushed  with  the 
unwonted  exercise,  came  over  to  the  grass 
plot  where  I  lay  watching  the  miniature  car- 
nival of  life  and  death,  —  Ada's  tawny  skin  now 
red  as  wine,  Marie's  face  suffused  with  an 
inimitable  peach-blow  tint,  their  sunbrowned 
bosoms  rising  and  falling  with  every  breath, 
their  blue  eyes  dancing  with  the  glee  left 
over  from  the  race.  One  enthusiastically  de- 
clared she  never  had  had  such  fun,  and  the 

12 


THE   FROLIC   OF  THE   LEAVES 

other  self-satisfiedly  grunted  her  assent  to  the 
statement. 

We  went  home,  the  tired  little  two-year- 
old  in  my  arms,  a  chubby  hand  thrust  down 
my  neck,  Ada  squeezing  my  disengaged 
hand,  and  between  breaths  jabbering  like  a 
monkey,  detailing  the  story  she  would  tell  her 
mamma  of  the  jolly  race  with  the  fairies. 

All  this  time  the  undercurrent  of  my  thought 
was  on  the  mad  race  my  own  past  life  had  been, 
now  in  this  direction,  now  in  that;  at  one 
time  in  a  whirl  of  pleasure,  the  whirl  ending 
in  nothing  of  actual  possession ;  at  another  in 
pursuit  of  some  cherished  object,  the  pursuit 
ending  in  humiliating  retreat ;  then  a  deter- 
mined rally,  then  a  soul-comforting  victory 
growing  out  of  defeat  —  the  victory  achieved 
by  the  substitution  of  some  prize  undreamt  of 
at  the  outset.  And  after  all  the  hurrying  and 
scurrying,  the  elation  and  the  heartache,  the 
self-complacency  and  the  groaning  and  sweat- 
13 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


ing  under  self-imposed  but  none  the  less  weary 
loads,  —  after  all,  an  indecisive  ending,  a 
drawn  battle,  my  only  real,  soul-satisfying 
successes  those  which  were  found  at  the  end 
of  some  uninviting  road. 

In  the  fast-gathering  gloom  of  this  Novem- 
ber evening,  reflecting  on  my  past  and  phi- 
losophizing on  its  significance,  I  am  moved  to 
undertake  in  earnest  the  execution  of  a  purpose 
long  fondly  entertained, — that  of  leaving  for 
those  who  love  me  a  record  —  fragmentary  at 
best  —  of  a  happy  life  begun  so  late  that  my 
most  skeptical  friends  could  scarcely  have  been 
less  confident  than  was  I  that  it  would  last. 
Now  that  pencil  has  actually  touched  paper 
with  this  intent,  the  words  come  as  if  wind- 
swept like  the  leaves,  —  all  too  fast  for  my 
slow-moving  hand.  The  most  I  dare  hope  to 
accomplish  is  the  preparation  of  a  few  phono- 
graphic reproductions  of  familiar  talks  with 
myself,  likening  them  as  far  as  possible  to  the 
»4 


THE    FROLIC   OF  THE   LEAVES 

family  heart-talks  of  early  evening-time,  when 
tongues  that  have  wagged  all  day  are  content 
to  give  only  a  word  of  assent  or  put  some 
leading  question  ;  when,  the  volubility  of  youth 
having  spent  itself,  the  garrulity  of  age  finds 
its  opportunity.  It  is  my  aim  to  put  upon 
paper  from  time  to  time  some  of  the  other- 
wise unremembered  events  and  occurrences, 
thoughts  and  emotions,  that  shall  seem  to 
me  to  illustrate  our  daily  life  during  these 
last  years. 

My  happiness  came  late,  but  the  essential 
fact  is  that  it  came.  When  confronted  with 
that  other  fact,  to  which  reference  has  already 
been  made,  —  that  the  particular  happiness 
which  is  mine,  and  which  I  would  not  dare, 
and  do  not  desire,  to  exchange  for  any  other 
kind  of  happiness,  could  not  have  been  mine 
had  any  one  of  my  past  sorrows  and  losses 
been  turned  aside  from  me,  —  when  brought 
face  to  face  with  this  overwhelming  thought, 
'5 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


I  am  compelled  by  the  simple  logic  of  cause 
and  consequence  to  thank  God  even  for  the 
sorrows  and  the  losses. 

But,  oh,  how  many  years  it  has  taken  me 
to  be  able  to  say  this  from  the  heart !  Verily, 
that  was  a  good  gospel  which  the  people  of 
Afltioch,  Iconium,  and  Lystra  heard  from  the 
lips  of  Paul  and  Barnabas,  that  the  way  to 
the  Kingdom  is  traversed  only  by  those  who 
pass  through  much  tribulation.  And  where  is 
the  Kingdom,  — or  so  much  of  it  as  is  revealed 
to  us  mortals,  —  if  it  is  not  in  the  happy  home 
where  the  rule  of  love  is  an  unbroken  law  ? 

Bear  in  mind  that  I  have  set  out  to  por- 
tray, not  an  ideal  home  life  in  which  reality  is 
sacrificed  to  picturesque  effects,  but  rather  a 
real  home  life  where  love  is  law  and  character 
is  creed,  though  the  working  of  that  law  is  far 
from  perfect  and  the  living  of  that  creed  far 
from  ideal.  Thankful  to  the  rhapsodists  and 
the  idealists  for  the  pictures  they  have  given 
16 


THE   FROLIC   OF   THE   LEAVES 

us  of  the  Divine  Family,  my  simpler  purpose 
is  to  picture  for  my  friends  a  human  —  very 
human —  family,  shortcomings  and  all,  leaving 
in  the  dark  background  the  tribulations  out  of 
which  the  solitary  "  lone  wandering  but  not 
lost "  finally  came  to  his  own. 


II 


THE  HAPPY  CLOSE  OF  A  DISAPPOINT- 
ING DAY 

JUNE  20,  1880.  —  Infirm  of  purpose! 
Nearly  seven  months  have  passed  without 
a  single  line  written  in  fulfilment  of  the  intent 
so  solemnly  recorded  in  November  last !  It 
is  plain  thus  early  that  the  "  human  docu- 
ment "  planned  by  me  will  mainly  be  the  result 
of  circumstance,  not  of  deliberate  choice  of 
material  —  the  consequent  of  mood  rather  than 
settled  purpose. 

Coming  home  to-night  after  a  disappointing 
day,  I  fell  to  wondering  whether  or  not  I  could 
18 


CLOSE   OF  A   DISAPPOINTING   DAY 

so  effectually  conceal  my  low  spirits  as  to  elude 
the  loving  first  glance  of  the  wife  and  the 
expectant  eyes  of  the  children.  As  I  turned 
the  corner,  a  half  block  from  the  house,  I  saw 
the  little  ones  straining  their  necks  through  the 
vines  on  the  porch  to  see  if  papa  was  among 
the  street-car  arrivals.  On  discovering  me 
my  Ada  held  high  her  hand  and  waved  it 
vigorously  —  her  wonted  signal.  I  answered 
with  a  reassuring  wave,  and  then  such  a 
shout,  rising  above  the  rumble  of  the  ice- 
wagon  and  the  loud  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs ! 

"  It 's  papa,  mamma  !  It 's  papa,  Marie  !  " 
cried  Ada  in  frantic  glee,  and  as  she  rushed 
toward  me  she  screamed,  "  Papa !  papa ! 
papa ! "  Close  behind  her  came  toddling 
Marie,  she  too  crying  "  Papa!"  at  the  top  of 
her  voice. 

Out  of  breath  they  flung  themselves  into 
my  arms,  and  with  clinging  wet  lips  received 
the  kisses  they  well  knew  awaited  them. 
19 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


Noting  their  red  faces  and  heavy  breathing  I 
sat  down  with  them  upon  a  neighbor's  terrace ; 
and  there  between  breaths  and  in  hasty  catch- 
words Ada  narrated  the  various  little,  un- 
important, but  to  her  all-important  events 
of  her  day,  interspersing  the  story  with  many 
gleeful  giggles  and  gestures  and  much  rolling 
and  dancing  of  eyes,  concluding  with  an 
account  of  some  newly  devised  scheme  in- 
vented by  mamma  for  the  children's  amuse- 
ment. As  the  voluble  one  recited  her  story,  the 
silent  one  corroborated  its  every  detail  with  a 
grunt  and  a  shake  of  the  head. 

In  the  midst  of  the  spirited  narrative  the 
mother,  whose  smiling  face  had  already 
greeted  me  from  the  centre  of  a  frame  of 
woodbine  enveloping  our  porch,  stepped 
down  from  her  picture  and  came  across  the 
street  to  meet  me.  How  cool  and  comfort- 
able she  looked  in  her  plain  white  waist ! 
How  tall  she  seemed  as  she  stood  between  the 
20 


CLOSE   OF  A   DISAPPOINTING   DAY 

little  ones,  her  face  almost  on  a  level  with 
mine ! 

In  the  midst  of  our  greetings  the  tea-bell 
rang  and  we  started  home,  the  wife  and 
mother  leaning  on  one  arm,  Ada  clinging  to 
the  other,  and  Marie  tugging  at  her  mamma's 
skirt. 

On  the  way  to  the  table  I  recalled  the  woes 
of  the  day  and  grimly  smiled  at  the  undue 
prominence  I  had  given  them.  The  wife  saw 
the  smile  and  commanded  me  to  interpret  it  to 
her.  I  threw  her  off  the  scent  by  asking  her 
if  she  could  n't  guess.  She  gave  me  a  self- 
complacent  smile  and  changed  the  subject. 


21 


Ill 

FAREWELL   TO    OUR  BABY  CTRL 

AUGUST    1 8,    1880.  — Our    Ada  was 
five  years  old  to-day.    Birthday  presents 
and  a  cake  decorated  with  five  candles  "  and 
one  to  grow  on  "  were  the  only  special  observ- 
ances of  the  event. 

Before  my  baby  girl's  escape  is  complete, 
and  before  the  school  girl  takes  her  place,  I 
want  to  devote  the  evening,  or  part  of  it,  to  an 
identification  of  the  child.  To  this  end  I  have 
been  looking  over  a  precious  memorandum 
book  kept  by  the  mother  during  Ada's  baby- 
hood. How  vividly  the  record  brings  back 

22 


FAREWELL   TO   OUR   BABY   GIRL 

that  memorable  day  five  years  ago  when  in 
the  early  evening  a  vigorous  child-cry  an- 
nounced the  fulfilment  of  our  hopes  and  the 
beginning  of  a  new  era  in  our  home  !  I  shall 
always  hold  as  a  choice  possession  the  memory 
of  the  smile  with  which  the  madonna  of  our 
household  looked  down  upon  the  flesh-and- 
blood  realization  of  her  dream,  —  her  child, 
our  child, —  and  actually  drawing  nourish- 
ment from  her  breast !  The  miracle,  old  as 
life  itself,  yet  ever  new  and  marvellous,  the 
miracle  of  being,  transmitted  from  mother  to 
child,  quite  overwhelmed  us.  That  was  an 
hour  of  solemn  joy  to  both,  and  doubly  so  to 
me,  for  I  had  long  given  entertainment  to  an 
unwelcome  guest  —  the  fear  that  instead  of 
gaining  a  child  I  might  lose  from  my  home 
the  very  light  of  my  life.  To  the  last  mo- 
ment no  shadow  had  been  thrown  upon  Mary's 
vision  of  sunny  skies.  To  the  last  she  had 
cheerily  waited  in  confident  expectation. 
23 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


Happy    before,    she    was    supremely    happy 
then. 

Another  memory  :  it  is  the  half-hour 
devoted  to  the  baby's  bath  !  I  am  standing 
in  the  doorway  leading  to  our  little  bath- 
room, a  rapt  gazer  on  the  miracle  of  new 
and  vigorous  life,  the  little  one  splashing  and 
crowing  and  laughing  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 
How  large  for  her  that  little  green-painted 
tub  was  then  !  It  is  simply  impossible  now. 

I  pass  hurriedly  over  the  memory  of  that 
inevitable  colicky  period  when  the  heart- 
rending question,  "  Can  she  live  through 
it  ? "  would  come  to  our  lips  again  and 
again. 

I  must  linger  a  moment  over  the  baby's 
first  Christmas,  celebrated  by  a  visit  to  the 
home  of  a  sister  in  a  neighboring  city.     I 
24 


FAREWELL   TO    OUR    BABY    GIRL 

recall  the  admiring  glances  and  to  us  highly 
gratifying  comments  of  fellow-travellers,  evi- 
dently good  judges  on  points  of  excellence 
in  babyhood ;  the  curious  investigation  and 
final,  unqualified  approval  of  our  "  find  "  by 
relatives  and  friends  ;  the  heavy-hung  Christ- 
mas tree,  the  jollity  in  which  her  ladyship 
occasionally  joined,  the  fine  indifference  she 
maintained  toward  all  the  presents  lavished 
upon  her,  all  except  a  rubber  rattlebox,  an 
afterthought  of  one  of  the  guests. 

I  recall  the  joy  in  our  household  of  faith 
(faith  being  the  substance  of  things  hoped 
for)  when  the  well-nigh  sightless  grandma, 
by  the  sense  of  touch,  discovered  the  first 
tooth.  One  evening  Ada's  mother  ran  to 
meet  me  and,  well-nigh  breathless  with  the 
unwonted  exertion,  clung  to  my  arm  for 
support.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  I  asked,  alarmed, 
yet  reassured  by  the  glad  light  in  her  eye. 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


The  answer  came,  between  gasps,  "  Oh, 
nothing  in  particular,  only  I  thought  you 
might  be  glad  to  know  baby  has  a  tooth !  " 

Another  change  of  scene,  and  I  am  look- 
ing for  the  first  time  on  our  baby  in  short 
clothes  —  a  little  surprise  planned  by  the 
mother.  Underneath  my  smile  was  a  sense  of 
loss  for  which  I  had  not  yet  prepared  myself. 
My  cuddling  baby  had  left  us  never  to  re- 
turn, and  a  little  girl  —  or  a  substantial 
promise  of  one  —  had  been  left  in  her  stead. 

"  Well,"  I  exclaimed,  my  thought  soon 
finding  relief  in  words,  "  good-bye,  baby 
darling ;  and  thank  God  for  the  little  girl 
who  is  to  take  her  place  !  "  And  then  we 
both  wiped  tears  from  our  eyes  and  silently 
sat  down  to  supper. 

I  have  n't  even  referred  to  the  first  word 
spoken  by   our   baby  girl !     The   repression 
26 


FAREWELL   TO    OUR   BABY   GIRL 

has  not  been  without  effort,  as  you  shall  see. 
When  first  we  distinguished  the  heathenish 
word  "  Pa-ba "  we  were  not  sure  that  it 
meant  anything  ;  but  later,  on  sight  of  me  or 
my  picture,  her  dainty  mouth  would  purse, 
and  "  Pa-ba "  would  come  from  her  lips 
with  explosive  force.  All  too  soon  the  "  b  " 
gave  way  to  "  p." 

Ada  was  slow  in  learning  to  talk.  Her 
dialect  and  her  aboriginal  way  of  giving 
names  of  her  own  to  persons,  animals,  and 
objects  afforded  us  much  amusement,  and 
gave  us  many  a  suggestion  as  to  the  origin 
and  growth  of  language.  Let  me  give  those 
interested  in  child  talk  a  few  illustrations. 

In  her  animal  world,  dog  was  "  boo "  > 
a  small  dog  "  tee-boo."  To  indicate  the 
word  horse  she  simply  clucked.  She  crowed 
to  imitate  a  cock  and  brayed  (with  surprising 
likeness)  in  imitation  of  a  donkey.  Her  cow 
was  "  ooah  "  in  imitation  of  the  bellowing  of 
27 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


a  neighbor's  Jersey.  She  called  the  boy  who 
brings  us  milk  the  "  ooah  boy,"  and  the  milk 
wagon  which  passes  our  door  was  "  ooah 
buggy."  Her  birds  were  "  peeps  "  because 
of  the  continual  peeping  of  the  sparrows 
under  our  roof.  Determined  to  oust  the 
squatter  sparrows  from  their  favorite  corner 
and  so  relieve  the  wrens  that  nested  in  a  tin 
can  among  the  woodbine  over  our  porch,  and 
scientifically  curious  to  test  the  well-known 
persistency  of  the  sparrow,  for  thirty-one 
days  in  almost  continuous  succession  I  pulled 
down  their  re-made  nest.  The  little  girl 
resented  the  intrusion  of  the  sparrows,  and 
every  evening  on  my  return  she  would  run 
out  to  meet  me,  and  with  wild-eyed  indigna- 
tion exclaim  :  "  Papa,  peep  ba  nat !  peep  ba 
nat !  "  meaning  that  the  birds  had  again 
built  a  nest. 

Her  first  display  of  jealousy  was  over  my 
devotion  to  the  evening   newspaper.     Con- 
28 


FAREWELL   TO    OUR    BABY    GIRL 

fident  that  she  would  be  forgiven  the  indig- 
nity, she  used  to  come  up  stealthily  behind 
her  papa,  and  snatching  it  away,  with  a 
roguish  smile  which  I  could  never  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  resist,  would  say,  "  No  yead 
pappet,  papa  !  No  yead  pappet !  " 

Her  inventive  mind  suggested  "  Papa-day  " 
as  a  synonym  for  Sunday.  One  winter  morn- 
ing she  broke  forth  in  rhyme  as  follows : 

"Papa-day  !  papa-day, 

Ada  wide  'er,  wide  'er  shay." 
(Ada  ride  her,  ride  her  sleigh.) 

She  early  loved  to  watch  the  beautiful  sun- 
sets, and  was  wont  to  rush  into  the  house  and 
drag  us  to  the  porch  to  "  shee  de  pitty  shun- 
shet." 

One  by  one  the  words  in  our  Ada's  baby 

vocabulary  are  passing  out  of  mind,  and  the 

arbitrarily  chosen  words  we  grown-ups  use 

are  taking  their  places.     A  cow  is  to  her  no 

29 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


longer  a  mere  bellower.  The  quacker  is  now 
only  a  duck;  the  brayer,  a  donkey;  the 
"  boo,"  a  dog ;  the  "  mew,"  a  cat ;  and  so  on 
to  the  end.  I  cannot  quite  bring  myself  to 
say  I  am  glad  to  note  her  progress  in  this 
direction. 


3° 


IV 

THE  FOND  FATHER   GOES   AWAY 
FROM  HOME 

OCTOBER  21,  1880. —  The  egotism 
of  the  fondly  loved  man  in  a  home  the 
other  occupants  of  which  are  women  would 
become  unbearable  but  for  the  corrective  in- 
fluence of  "  all  the  world  and  the  rest  of  man- 
kind." The  whole  world  outside  the  home 
is  in  benevolent  conspiracy  against  the  male 
egotist  of  the  household,  to  keep  him  from 
being  spoiled  by  feminine  adulation.  The 
world's  sympathy,  support,  commendation, 
praise,  are  administered  with  ample  correctives 
3' 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


and  due  qualifications,  healthfully  checking 
the  otherwise  redundant  growth  of  the  ego 
and  heading  off  the  haughty  spirit  of  the  man 
at  the  head  of  the  household  before  he  can 
come  dangerously  near  a  fall.  When  a  man 
of  family  enters  his  happy  home,  the  other  in- 
mates of  which  are  all  of  the  feminine  gender, 
the  bent  of  his  self-love  finds  no  obstacle  save 
his  sense  of  his  own  unworthiness  —  a  feel- 
ing, unless  he  be  more  than  normally  self- 
complacent,  that  he  has  somehow,  weakly  if 
not  wickedly,  extorted  from  these  unsuspect- 
ing ones  a  priceless  consideration  for  the  small 
service  he  can  render  in  return.  Thus  prodded 
by  conscience,  he  usually  undertakes  to  un- 
deceive his  lovers,  only  to  find  the  over-fond 
ones  persist  in  seeing  him  at  his  best,  —  even 
refusing  to  believe  there  is  any  worst,  —  in- 
sisting that  his  attempts  at  confession  spring 
from  an  excess  of  modesty. 

A  slight  break  occurred  last  week  in  the 
32 


FATHER    GOES    AWAY   FROM    HOME 

regular  order  of  our  quiet  home  life.  I  was 
called  away  for  three  days,  and  returned  on 
Saturday.  For  at  least  a  whole  day  prior  to 
my  going  there  hung  over  our  otherwise  happy 
home  the  shadow  of  impending  woe. 

"  If  I  were  superstitious,"  said  the  wife, 
with  a  sadness  in  her  face  and  voice  which 
belied  her  disclaimer,  "  I  would  surely  think 
something  awful  was  going  to  happen." 

To  me  —  for  I  am  proof  against  all  super- 
stition (unless  it  be  the  lingering  shadow  still 
cast  upon  my  mind  by  the  new  moon  as  a  dis- 
penser of  good  and  ill  luck)  —  to  me,  the  self- 
satisfied  one,  it  was  a  sweet  sorrow,  for  I  was 
sure  there  was  no  ground  for  fear.  We  were 
unusually  well,  and  my  circumstances,  a  few 
years  before  this  somewhat  straitened  by  losses, 
were  steadily  improving,  and  the  chances  of  a 
railroad  accident  or  of  a  stroke  of  lightning 
were  as  far  as  possible,  "  humanly  speaking," 
neutralized  by  life  insurance  policies. 
3  33 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


On  the  first  night  after  our  separation,  in- 
stead of  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just,  I  was 
caught  by  the  midnight  hour  sentimentally 
sitting  in  my  room  at  the  hotel,  writing  home, 
my  selfish  purpose  being  to  satisfy  my  own 
hungry  heart;  my  reason,  as  given  in  the  letter, 
being  to  break  the  spell  of  loneliness  at  home. 

On  my  return,  far  as  I  could  see,  there  were 
two  white  objects  dancing  about  in  front  of 
the  big  window  opening  on  the  porch.  It 
was  not  hard  to  guess  what  the  pantomime 
meant.  The  children  had  seen  me  alight 
from  the  street-car;  but  as  they  both  had 
colds,  and  a  slight  rain  was  falling,  they 
had  been  prohibited  from  running  to  meet  me, 
and  were  venting  their  glee  by  frantically 
jumping  and  screaming.  Their  cries  soon 
brought  the  mother,  who,  also  in  white  in 
honor  of  my  home-coming,  towered  far  above 
them,  waving  one  hand  and  throwing  kisses 
with  the  other.  Another  sight  met  my  eyes. 
34 


FATHER    GOES   AWAY   FROM    HOME 

In  the  immediate  background,  seen  from  time 
to  time  between  the  two  miniature  dancing 
dervishes,  sat  my  old  mother  leaning  far  for- 
ward in  her  wheel-chair  and  vainly  straining 
her  age-bedimmed  eyes  to  behold  a  glimpse  of 
the  one  of  all  living  on  the  earth  most  dear  to 
her.  Her  wavy  white  hair  stood  out  in  the 
background  of  the  picture,  a  crown  of  glory 
for  her  face  —  a  face  still  beautiful  to  me  de- 
spite the  ravages  of  these  last  years. 

Such  a  welcome  awaited  me !  All  that  in 
times  past  I  have  childishly  coveted,  all  that 
the  world  could  have  bestowed  on  me  of 
wealth  and  honors,  are  to  me  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  the  conditions  which  have  made 
possible  the  impossible  thing  of  a  few  yester- 
days ago,  —  such  a  welcome,  with  so  much  of 
love  behind  it.  They  say  a  man  is  a  physician 
or  a  fool  at  forty ;  surely  he  must  be  a 
philosopher  or  a  fool  as  he  nears  the  fifties, 
and  in  the  philosopher's  lexicon  —  my  lexicon 
35 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


—  there 's  no  word  so  big  with  meaning  as  the 
little  word  Love. 

Oh,  the  shoutings,  smothered  with  kisses, 
the  huggings  so  fierce  as  to  make  droll  breaks 
in  the  shouting,  the  pulling  and  hauling  for 
first  place  in  my  arms  !  And,  standing  in 
the  background,  the  rose-colored  walls  height- 
ening the  suggestion  of  color  in  her  cheeks, 
the  light  of  love  and  of  merriment  dancing  in 
her  eyes,  patiently  waiting  her  turn  to  wel- 
come me,  was  the  one  woman  in  my  world 
most  dear  to  me.  Nor  would  I  omit  to 
mention  the  pathetically  feeble  embraces  of 
the  dear,  doting  mother.  Her  thin  white 
hand  slowly  passed  across  my  face  and  over 
my  head,  as  the  blind  are  wont  to  show  their 
fondness,  and  from  the  sunken  lips,  between 
kisses  and  sobs  of  joy,  came  the  words,"  My 
dear  boy  !  my  dear  boy  !  " 

How  they  had  missed  me !  I,  so  long 
without  a  home ;  I,  who  for  so  many  years 
36 


FATHER   GOES   AWAY  FROM   HOME 

was  wont  to  go  and  come,  with  no  loving 
heart  to  sadden  at  my  going,  no  loving  eye 
to  brighten  at  my  coming ;  I,  so  recently 
u  the  lone  one,"  can  hardly  realize  this  rich 
fulfilment  of  my  dream  of  family  life, — this 
heaven  on  earth. 

I  am  told  that  at  the  table  the  day  follow- 
ing my  departure,  my  baby  girl,  looking  about, 
exclaimed,  "  Papa  no  here  ! "  And  the  tears 
gathered  in  her  eyes,  though  no  words  came 
to  her  lips.  The  mother  sought  to  divert 
the  mourner  with  the  cheering  announce- 
ment that  to-morrow  would  be  Thursday, 
and  the  next  day  Friday,  and  on  Saturday 
papa  would  come ;  and  the  day  after  that 
would  be  "  Papa-day."  Marie's  broken  an- 
swer was,  "  Yes,  mamma,  but  —  "  she  found 
relief  in  a  shower  of  tears,  flew  to  the  next 
room,  and  threw  herself  upon  the  sofa. 

Another  story  told  me  is  that  one  early 
evening  the  mother  opened  the  piano  and 
37 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


played  a  polka,  and  Ada,  as  usual,  proceeded 
to  dance  round  the  centre-table,  holding  up 
her  dress  at  the  sides,  as  she  had  seen  the 
chorus  girls  perform  at  some  matinee.  Sud- 
denly she  stopped,  and  the  tears  burst  from 
her  eyes.  Throwing  herself  on  her  knees, 
and  burying  her  face  in  her  mother's  lap,  she 
began  to  sob  as  though  her  heart  would 
break. 

"  What  ails  you,  darling  ?  "  asked  the 
mother  j  "  are  you  sick  ?  " 

The  child's  only  response  was,  "  I  want 
papa." 

I  had  never  dreamt  —  certainly  since  my 
early  youth  —  that  I  could  be  the  hero  of 
such  a  tale.  May  the  omnipatient  God, 
who  for  years  seemed  too  far  off  to  be 
reached  by  prayer,  forgive  my  old-time  doubt 
as  to  His  goodness,  and  help  me  daily  to  live 
up  to  the  full  measure  of  so  much  love  ! 


A   TALE   OF  WOE 

MAY  3,  1881. —  One  evening,  early  in 
November,  a  serious  trouble  came 
into  our  lives.  Returning  home  somewhat 
later  than  usual,  I  was  quick  to  note  the 
look  of  anxiety  on  the  mother's  face. 
"  What  is  it,  Mother  Mary  ? "  I  asked, 
forcing  myself  to  be  calm. 

Her  only  reply  was,  "  What  shall  we 
do ! '  She  then  gave  way  to  tears,  her 
hands  on  my  shoulders  trembling  with  ex- 
citement. 

Not  to  lengthen  out  the  woful  details,  I 
39 


will  simply  state  that  our  Ada  had  the 
whooping  cough.  You  smile  ?  Perhaps  I 
am  making  too  much  of  this  event  in  our 
family  life  ? 

Why  is  it  one's  friends  assume  a  superior 
look  of  unconcern  and  take  on  a  smile  which, 
to  say  the  least,  is  hard  to  bear,  when  they 
are  told  your  children  have  the  whooping 
cough  ?  And  why  do  they  follow  up  the 
thrust  with  those  empty  words  of  consola- 
tion, "  They  might  better  have  it  now  than 
later  ? "  Is  it  nothing  to  sit  impotent  at  the 
bedside  of  a  devotedly  loved  child  and  watch 
that  pitiful  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes,  and 
hear  that  strange,  wild-animal  bark,  followed 
by  that  agonizing,  heart-breaking  wail  ?  Is 
it  nothing  to  see  the  fair  face  turn  purple- 
red,  the  blue  veins  distended,  the  white  of 
those  appealing  eyes  grown  bloodshot  ? 
Nothing  to  place  one's  hand  upon  the  child's 
head,  —  to  sustain  it  through  the  next  par- 
40 


A   TALE    OF   WOE 


oxysm,  —  and  find  it  burning  hot  ?  Nothing 
to  waken  from  the  restless  sleep  of  the  worn 
watcher  to  find  the  little  sufferer  sitting  up  in 
bed,  her  back  bent  as  with  age,  her  shoulders 
rising  and  falling  with  the  muscular  exertion 
of  coughing,  and  on  the  dear  face  an  expres- 
sion of  unutterable  anguish  ?  Then,  when 
the  parent's  anxiety  is  most  tense,  what  of 
the  new  pain  which  shoots  through  the  heart 
as  an  ominous  cough  from  the  trundle-bed 
in  the  next  room  announces  that  the  scourge 
has  claimed  a  second  victim  ? 

I  shall  not  retell  the  story  of  alternating 
anxieties,  of  waning  hope  and  growing  fears, 
of  remedies  tried  and  abandoned,  of  the  long 
heart-sickness  lasting  well  on  into  the  Spring, 
when  it  seemed  inevitable  that  our  Ada,  if 
she  should  live  —  if  she  should  live  !  oh,  how 
terrible  the  alternative  those  words  presented  ! 
—  would  never  again  be  well  and  strong. 
Not  until  our  neighbors,  the  squirrels  and 
41 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


the  chipmunks,  came  out  of  their  winter 
quarters,  and  the  dandelions  in  the  fields  and 
by  the  roadsides  began  to  turn  gray,  and  the 
morning-glories  began  to  climb  the  porch, 
usurping  the  place  of  the  late-coming  wood- 
bine, —  not  till  then  did  the  well-nigh  winter- 
killed flowers  of  our  home  bloom  again,  — 
the  younger,  stocky,  with  a  wealth  of  pink 
and  white,  the  older  spindling  and  sallow, 
and  yet  with  a  promising  suggestion  of  color. 
Now,  as  I  write,  the  unmistakable  bloom  of 
youth  has  returned  to  both,  and  the  happy 
days  are  here  again. 

And,  too,  while  I  write  (it  is  early  morn- 
ing) the  high-keyed,  jubilant  notes  of  our  old 
neighbor  "  Papa  Wren "  fall  on  my  ears. 
He  is  informing  his  friends,  our  children,  of 
his  belated  arrival  from  the  south.  Going  to 
the  window  I  see  "Mamma  Wren"  daintily 
inspecting  her  summer  residence,  preparatory 
to  opening  it  for  the  season's  campaign. 
42 


A  TALE   OF  WOE 


Shouts  of  joy  from  both  the  children  at  once 
give  their  bird  neighbors  cheery  welcome. 
Their  glad  refrain,  many  times  repeated,  is : 
"  The  wrens  have  come  !  "  "  De  wens  '  a ' 
turn  ! " 


43 


VI 


A  "COMMONPLACE"  SUNDAY 

MAY  15,  1 88 1.  —  This  has  been  what 
some  might  term  a  commonplace  Sun- 
day —  as  though  any  day  at  home  could  be 
commonplace !  There  is  nothing  to  differ- 
entiate it  in  my  mind  from  other  Sundays, 
nothing  except  the  fast  ripening  fulfilment  of 
April's  promise,  which  I  eagerly  note  after  a 
week's  absence  from  home,  —  the  deepening 
bloom  of  health  on  my  children's  cheeks,  the 
annual  resurrection  of  the  flowers,  and  that 
other  miracle  of  beauty,  the  velvet  green  of 
44 


A   « COMMONPLACE"   SUNDAY 

fields  and  lawns  where  seemingly  but  yester- 
day all  was  dull  yellow  and  gray.  And  I 
must  not  omit  that  most  startling  miracle  of 
all,  which  in  a  night  has  transformed  the 
stunted  crab-apple  trees  all  about  us  each  into 
a  burning  bush,  from  which  one  might  easily 
expect  to  hear  God's  voice  as  of  old. 

It  is  eight  o'clock.  I  hear  a  whispered 
council  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  soon  followed 
by  the  patter  of  descending  feet.  Looking 
up  over  my  glasses,  I  see  coming  toward  me 
through  the  dark  hallway  an  apparition  easily 
recognizable  —  two  little  figures  in  white,  one 
nearly  a  head  taller  than  the  other.  They 
come  running  toward  me,  each  in  friendly 
rivalry  for  the  first  good-night  kiss.  I  look 
into  their  beaming  eyes  and  devoutly  thank 
God  that  through  the  mystery  of  marriage 
and  the  transcendent  mystery  of  birth  He 
"  setteth  the  solitary  in  families." 

Later  I  stop  reading  to  listen  to  their  voices 
45 


AN    OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


in  unison  with  their  mother's  in  the  "  Our 
Father."  I  can  see  the  picture  in  the  bed- 
room overhead.  The  little  ones  are  kneeling 
at  their  mother's  feet,  their  heads  in  her  lap, 
their  hands  firmly  clasping  the  mother's.  At 
the  close  of  the  prayer  I  listen  for  Marie's 
nightly  comment,  "  I  yak  dat  pah "  (I  like 
that  prayer),  and  am  not  disappointed.  With 
a  very  good  opinion  of  her  own  judgment, 
once  having  approved  the  words  she  may  be 
relied  on  to  retain  her  regard  for  them  to  the 
end  of  her  days.  Just  why  a  little  four-year- 
old  should  like  something  she  does  n't  com- 
prehend is  more  than  I  can  discover,  unless 
it  be  the  succession  of  big  words  she  thinks 
she  has  mastered. 

Though  the  words  of  the  prayer  which  they 
repeat  so  glibly  have  little  meaning  to  them 
now,  yet  as  their  minds  expand  and  their  vo- 
cabulary grows,  they  are  sure  to  find  in  them 
more  and  more  of  meaning.  I  wish  they 
46 


A    "COMMONPLACE"    SUNDAY 

might  know  it  in  the  simpler  and  more  beau- 
tiful form  in  which  it  was  originally  written. 
It  is  hard,  if  not  impossible,  to  convey  to  the 
infant  mind  the  full  meaning  of  such  words 
as  "  hallowed,"  or  such  phrases  as  "  kingdom 
come,"  or  the  larger  sense  in  which  "  our 
debts"  is  used.  And,  too,  I  have  sorrowed 
over  the  words  "  lead  us  not  into  temptation" 
ever  since  our  Ada,  in  one  of  her  thoughtful 
moods,  raised  her  big  blue  eyes  to  mine  and 
said,  "  God  would  n't  really  and  truly  lead  us 
into  temptation,  would  He  ?  "  No,  my  dear 
one,  God  will  not  lead  you  into  temptation  ; 
but  in  my  own  weakness,  and  confronted 
with  the  certainty  that  the  protection  I  can 
give  you  now  will  become  feebler  and  more 
feeble  with  the  years,  and  that  the  end  of 
my  strength  at  most  may  come  when  you 
most  need  a  father's  protecting  hand,  I  cry 
out  from  a  full  heart,  "  Deliver  us  from 
evil !  "  And  yet,  alas  !  I  know  that  only  in 
47 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


part  will  my  prayer  be  answered.  With  their 
highly  strung  nerves,  their  strong  self-assertion, 
and  —  I  must  admit  it  —  their  inherited  self- 
will  and  tendency  to  waywardness,  God  pity 
them  when  the  crises  come  !  And  in  the  in- 
evitable crises  may  their  wills  be  only  bent, 
not  broken ;  and  forth  from  their  experience 
may  they  come  to  the  full  realization  of  the 
meaning  of  the  words  they  utter  so  thought- 
lessly to-night :  "  Thy  will  be  done."  And 
lurking  between  these  words,  and  along  with 
the  thought  of  the  children's  earthly  inherit- 
ance, comes  the  comforting  consciousness  of 
the  reserves  of  goodness  and  all -conquering 
sweetness  of  disposition  inherited  from  their 
mother,  which  will  surely  serve  to  protect 
them  from  the  spirit  of  evil  abroad  in  the 
world. 

The    only    incident    of   this    uneventful 
u  papa-day"  was  our  walk  in  the  woods  along 
the  river.    The  little  ones  both  affect  the  self- 
48 


A    "COMMONPLACE"    SUNDAY 

reliance  of  the  period ;  but  I  observe,  with  a 
smile  which  sometimes  puzzles  them,  that 
whenever  we  come  upon  a  strange  boy  or 
man  armed  with  a  fish-pole  or  gun,  or  when- 
ever a  strange  dog  or  cow  looks  up  at  them 
from  some  unexpected  covert,  two  little 
hands,  one  lean  and  long,  the  other  fat  and 
chubby,  grasp  mine  tightly.  But  when  there 
is  a  hill  to  climb  or  to  descend,  or  a  log  or 
plank  across  a  stream  inviting  them  to  ven- 
ture, the  hands  squirm  from  their  prison  and 
the  two  are  off  with  a  shout  which  announces 
the  reestablishment  of  their  belief  in  their 
own  daring. 

The  mother,  temporarily  struggling  with 
housework  in  the  absence  of  the  kitchen  maid, 
was  too  tired  to  accompany  us  to-day.  Her 
absence  suggested,  as  the  direct  purpose  of  our 
walk,  the  picking  of  a  bouquet  for  her.  It 
proved  to  be  a  simple  affair,  —  a  few  belated 
wood  violets,  with  an  abundance  of  sweet- 
4  49 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


williams  and  wild  strawberry  blossoms  ;  but 
the  desire  to  make  the  absent  one  happy 
sanctified  it.  The  bouquet  now  occupies  the 
mother's  best  vase  and  is  sure  to  adorn  our 
breakfast  table  to-morrow. 

I  rejoice  in  the  thought  that  both  the  little 
ones  are  supremely  happy  in  the  woods,  de- 
lighting beyond  measure  in  the  annual  resur- 
rection of  the  grasses  and  flowers,  and  taking 
keenest  interest  in  every  detail  of  Nature's 
plan  for  the  perpetuation  of  her  own  pleasur- 
ing. My  most  vivid  recollection  of  the  walk 
is  of  the  little  flower-gatherers  bending  over 
some  half-concealed  violet,  Marie  exclaiming 
again  and  again,  "  You  pitty  ting  !  You  pitty 
ting ! "  and  Ada,  in  the  densest  portion  of 
the  woods  by  the  river,  feeling  her  way  along 
the  narrow  cow-path,  carefully  pushing  aside 
and  holding  the  brush  that  it  might  not  fly 
back  and  hurt  her  little  ward.  As  she  thus 
stood,  her  body  slightly  bent,  her  arms  spread 
5° 


A    "COMMONPLACE"    SUNDAY 

out,  she  looked  up  at  me  and,  smiling,  said, 
"  We  all  like  the  woods,  don't  we,  papa  ? " 
And  then  she  added,  regretfully,  "  If  mamma 
was  only  here  !  " 

Their  day  closed  with  a  lunch  in  grandma's 
room,  the  table  a  tray  in  grandma's  lap.  To 
the  dear  old  lady,  so  shut  out  from  the  world 
by  partial  blindness  and  deafness  and  the  other 
infirmities  incident  to  her  years,  this  young 
life  continually  hovering  about  her,  oftentimes 
startling  her  with  its  rough  touch,  is  a  daily 
blessing  and  inspiration.  When  they  were 
gone,  and  we  two  —  mother  and  son  —  sat  in 
the  dark,  communicating  chiefly  by  touch  of 
hands,  occasionally  by  word  of  mouth,  she 
broke  the  silence  with  the  words,  "  I  don't 
see  why  my  life  is  spared  so  long,  unless  it  be 
to  give  the  dear  girls  life-long  memories  of  the 
helplessness  of  age  —  memories  that  will  make 
them  better  women  by  enlarging  the  bounds 
of  their  sympathy." 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


And  then,  as  if  she  had  uttered  some  word 
that  might  seem  to  undervalue  their  worth, 
she  added,  "  Not  that  they  need  anything  to 
make  them  better,  the  dear  girls  !  " 


VII 

"ON'Y   POOTY   DOOD" 

MAY  26,  1 88 1.  —  The  day  is  cool  and 
bright.  The  girlies  are  running  across 
the  field,  each  alternately  the  pursuer  and  the 
pursued.  Their  apparently  purposeless  sport 
—  all  the  more  enjoyable  to  them  because  un- 
premeditated and  not  bound  by  rules  —  is  a 
delight ;  for  I  clearly  see  that  it  is  part  of  the 
divine  plan  to  redden  their  cheeks,  strengthen 
their  limbs,  expand  their  lungs,  and  enlarge 
their  capacity  —  not  only  to  endure  but  also 
to  enjoy.  While  they  are  coming  into  their 
own  out  of  doors  I  am  sitting  by  the  grate 
53 


AN    OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


fire  thinking  unutterable  thoughts.  The 
queen  of  the  home  has  left  her  subjects  in  my 
charge,  her  expectation  being  that  in  her  ab- 
sence I  will  guard  them  from  all  harm,  not 
only  from  outside  causes,  but  also,  and  chiefly, 
from  themselves,  I  am  expected  to  arbitrate 
the  differences  certain  to  arise,  for  it  must 
needs  be  that  offences  come.  I  am  expected 
—  mildly,  very  mildly  —  to  personate  Woe  in 
the  discipline  of  the  offender.  I  confess  I  am 
somewhat  of  a  failure,  or  a  fraud,  in  the  role 
of  arbiter.  I  accept  the  responsibility  only  to 
quiet  the  mother's  misgivings.  I  will  further 
confess  that  when  out  from  under  the  mild 
tyranny  of  the  mother's  confidence  in  me  I 
usually  let  the  contestants  fight  it  out,  secretly 
entertaining  the  belief  that  a  set-to  now  and 
then  is  an  essential  to  their  all-around  develop- 
ment. 

This  leads  me  to  make  further  acknowledg- 
ment.    Were  my  Mary  to  read  the  pages  I 
54 


»ON'Y   POOTY   DOOD" 


have  written,  her  criticism  would  surely  be 
that  I  had  embarrassingly  idealized  her,  and 
that  I  had  pictured  the  children  as  little  angels, 
instead  of  the  self-centred,  high-tempered,  per- 
verse, naughty,  but  altogether  lovable  children 
they  really  are.  I  can  see  some  force  in  the 
criticism  —  as  to  the  children  —  and  shall 
proceed  forthwith  to  mend  my  ways,  remark- 
ing in  self-exculpation  that  when  the  girls  are 
most  angelic  it  is  then  I  feel  my  inspiration  to 
write  about  them.  While  I  would  not  con- 
ceal the  earthly  side  of  their  natures,  I  would 
not  deliberately  advertise  their  failings.  If 
they  had  n't  from  time  to  time  revealed  to  me 
their  angel  side,  I  would  never  have  begun 
this  record.  The  fact  is,  these  interesting 
wards  of  ours,  fresh  from  heaven  as  they  are, 
have  somehow,  in  their  few  years  of  contact 
with  earth,  acquired  so  much  of  the  common 
stock  of  what  the  theologians  suggestively 
term  original  sin,  and  the  profane  with  equal 
55 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


suggestiveness  call  deviltry,  that,  but  for  our 
complacent  recollection  of  our  own  innocent 
childhood,  we  might  find  refuge  in  heredity  — 
the  latter-day  method  of  accounting  for  the 
unaccountable.  Sometimes  a  look  or  a  word 
half  recalls  that  shadowy  past  when  mamma 
and  papa  walked  their  separate  ways.  But  a 
flood  of  later  recollection  drowns  the  thought, 
and  we  take  refuge  in  the  less  discomforting 
conclusion  that  our  heaven-sent  offspring  are 
simply  impressionable,  and  when  our  neigh- 
bors' children  do  anything  audacious,  out  of 
the  common,  or  positively  bad,  they  at  once 
proceed  to  emulate  the  example.  Neighbors' 
children  are  so  convenient  when  parents  would 
find  a  way  of  escape  from  the  humiliating 
philosophy  of  heredity  ! 

Our    feelings  have    so   many  times  been 

hurt,  and  our  sensibilities  have  so  often  been 

shocked,  by  these  darling  earth-born  angels  of 

ours,  that  we  have  virtually  accepted  without 

56 


"ON'Y   POOTY   DOOD" 


further  question  Jack  Downing's  beatitude  : 
u  Blessed  are  they  that  expect  nothing,  for 
they  shall  not  be  disappointed." 

There  !  they  're  at  it  again  !  A  moment 
ago,  looking  out  of  the  window,  I  saw  Ada 
affectionately  hugging  and  kissing  Marie,  and 
heard  her  exclaim,  "You  dear  little  thing, 
you ! "  And  Marie,  the  self-conscious 
Marie,  blushingly  responded  with  her  favorite 
term  of  endearment,  "  'Ou  'weet  ting,  'ou !  " 
But  that  was  a  moment  ago.  How  changed 
the  situation  now !  These  angels  of  the 
household  are  actually  dealing  to  each  other 
dead-earnest,  flat-hand  blows !  A  stinging 
one  on  Ada's  ear  brings  the  disgraceful  set-to 
to  a  sudden  close.  The  injured  party  informs 
the  aggressor  that  she  will  forthwith  take  an 
appeal  to  papa  —  her  court  of  last  resort ! 

I  sink  into  my  chair  and  await  the  appear- 
ance of  the  parties  to  the  suit.  Ada  rushes 
57 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


into  the  room,  her  face  red,  —  one  side  red- 
der than  the  other,  —  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  her  voice  trembling  with  indignation. 
Standing  in  the  presence  of  the  judge,  but 
without  aught  of  reverence  for  the  authority 
invoked,  she  gives  me  a  tragic  look  of  in- 
sistence, which  plainly  declares  that  now,  if 
ever,  the  family  personator  of  justice  should 
get  in  his  work,  and  in  a  voice  as  strident  as 
that  of  an  angry  bluejay  she  cries  out : 

"  Papa,  Marie  slapped  me  on  the  ear  — 
see  !  and  I  want  you  to  punish  her !  " 

I  evasively  resume  my  book. 

She  stamps  her  feet  with  rage  and  ex- 
claims :  "  Papa,  do  you  hear  what  I  say  ? 
Marie  slapped  me  on  the  ear,  and  I  want  you 
to  give  her  a  good  whipping  !  " 

Marie,  who  has  followed  her  sister  into  the 
house,  concluding  she  will  not  contest  rushes 
out  of  doors  and  down  the  street. 

To  gain  time,  I  make  a  weak  attempt  to 
58 


"ON'Y   POOTY   DOOD" 


divert  the  plaintiff — and  to  my  surprise  suc- 
ceed. I  calmly  remark  that  I  will  take  up 
the  case  a  little  later,  and  suggest  that,  mean- 
time, I  will  let  her  decide  whether,  on  her 
mother's  return,  we  shall  go  to  the  park  and 
hear  the  band  play,  or  — 

I  am  not  permitted  to  name  my  alternative, 
for,  like  a  flash,  the  indignant  look  gives  way 
to  an  expression  of  delight.  She  turns  on  her 
heel,  rushes  out  of  doors,  and  when  last  seen 
from  the  porch  is  shouting  to  her  wayward 
sister,  "  Marie,  Marie  !  We  're  going  to  the 
park  !  We  're  going  to  the  park  !  " 

Marie,  already  sorry  for  her  sin,  and  glad 
to  forgive  herself  and  forget  the  past,  joins  in 
the  glad  cry,  "  We  *re  doin'  to  de  pahk  ! 
We  're  doin'  to  de  pahk  !  " 

And  so  once  again  I  weakly  evade  my  re- 
sponsibility, and  the  threatening  cloud  of  woe 
proves  to  be  big  with  blessings  on  the  of- 
fenders' heads  ! 

59 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


When  Marie  rushes  out  to  meet  her 
mamma,  the  mother  asks  her  if  she  has  been 
a  good  girl.  She  blushingly  looks  up  into 
the  face  bending  over  her  and  innocently 
answers  : 

"  On'y  pooty  dood,  mamma,  on'y  pooty 
dood." 


60 


VIII 

ALMOST   BUCOLIC 

JUNE  3,   1881.  —  I  am  lingering  in  my 
too   comfortable    chair   long  after    every 
one  else  is  sound  asleep.     What  for  ?     That 
I  may  tell  the  simple  story  of  an  uneventful 
evening  at  home. 

The  fierce  wind  storm  of  last  night  hurled 
to  the  ground  the  larger  of  the  dead  limbs 
which  had  long  hung  from  the  great  elms  in 
our  back  yard.  These  I  sawed  and  split  and 
hauled  to  the  woodshed  and  piled  up  for 
winter  use,  —  the  children  watching  me  with 
as  much  of  wonder  as  I  should  feel  were  I  to 
stand  watch  over  an  Edison  at  his  work ! 
61 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


On  my  way  back  to  the  house  I  stopped 
and  looked  long  and  wonderingly  at  the 
glory  of  the  setting  sun,  —  first  a  mass  of 
molten  gold,  then  a  brilliant  crimson,  and 
then  a  royal  purple  fringed  with  crimson  — 
a  poem  in  colors.  After  drinking  my  fill  of 
joy  from  this  inexhaustible  source  I  turned 
again  to  the  little  house  we  lovingly  call 
home.  My  attention  was  compelled  by  an 
unruly  woodbine  with  which  I  am  trying  to 
cover  the  nakedness  of  a  hickory  tree  killed 
by  lightning  one  night  last  summer.  Next  I 
proceeded  to  follow  the  latest  neighborly  ad- 
vice as  to  what  should  be  done  with  the 
young  elms  recently  planted  on  the  street  in 
front  of  the  house.  Next  I  turned  the  hose 
on  the  thirsty  lawn,  to  the  delight  of  the  little 
ones,  who  always  have  great  fun  running 
under  the  stream. 

The  "  wun  "  is  suddenly  brought  to  a  close 
this  time  by  Marie's  inherited  tendency  to 
62 


ALMOST   BUCOLIC 


take  what  the  insurance  men  term  extra  haz- 
ardous risks.  The  venturesome  little  one 
comes  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  nozzle,  until, 
my  attention  momently  called  elsewhere,  her 
forehead  encounters  the  full  force  of  the 
stream,  and  she  runs  screaming  and  dripping 
wet  to  tell  her  mother  the  story  of  her  undoing. 
After  convincing  the  victim  of  my  absent- 
mindedness,  that  I  "  did  n't  mean  to  do  it,"  I 
resume  my  tasks. 

This  is  one  of  my  physically  ambitious 
evenings,  and  as  they  are  not  of  frequent  oc- 
currence, I  am  making  haste  to  embody  it  in 
the  record.  I  proceed  to  wire  a  young  elm 
to  a  stalwart  butternut  tree,  that  its  wayward 
tendency  may  be  overcome  in  its  youth.  The 
rest  of  the  long  twilight  is  given  to  the  task 
of  uprooting  plantain,  ragweed,  thistles,  dan- 
delions, and  milkweed  from  the  ground  back 
of  the  barn,  leaving  the  hollyhocks  and  sun- 
flowers in  all  their  glory  of  pink  and  purple 
63 


AN   OLD    MAN'S    IDYL 


and  gold,  delightful  reminders  of  dooryards 
and  roadsides  in  my  memory  of  early  child- 
hood. 

On  my  way  to  the  house,  my  allotted  tasks 
completed,  I  again  stop  to  look  into  the  west, 
this  time  with  its  gathering  gloom,  and,  by 
some  law  of  association  which  I  cannot  trace, 
I  find  myself  recalling  other  summers  when 
heated  pavements  and  the  stone  walls  of 
huge  office  buildings  shut  me  out  from  con- 
tact with  the  cooling  earth  and  from  sight  of 
sunset  skies. 

The  gleeful  laughter  of  the  children  comes 
to  my  ears  from  the  bathroom  overhead.  I 
recall  the  keen  race  of  the  little  ones,  a  half- 
hour  ago,  for  the  first  good-night  kiss,  the 
radiance  of  those  beaming  eyes,  and  the  bloom 
on  the  not  over-clean  faces.  The  dreary 
brick-and-stone  age  of  my  past  is  forgotten 
in  the  joy  of  the  present.  The  high-keyed 
good-night  of  the  one  and  the  cooing  "  dood- 
64 


ALMOST   BUCOLIC 


night "  of  the  other,  with  the  glorious  going- 
down  of  the  sure-returning  sun,  draw  from 
my  lips  again  and  again  the  glad  refrain 
which,  alas,  too  seldom  comes  from  the  heart 
of  age  : 

"  God  's  in  His  heaven: 
All 's  right  with  the  world  !  " 

I  come  in  and  tell  my  tale  of  joy  to  the 
grandmother  sitting  in  the  dark,  in  her  usual 
waiting  attitude  —  waiting  just  now  for  the 
treasured  few  words  from  her  son  before 
retiring  for  the  night. 

"  Now  I  will  tell  my  story,"  said  she,  when 
I  had  finished  mine.  "  I  sat  by  the  window 
looking  out  on  nothing,  and  thinking  over 
again  the  thought  that  comes  to  me  and  stays 
with  me  so  much,  and  dreading  the — well, 
never  mind  what — when  of  a  sudden  I  felt  my- 
self seized  and  there  was  a  vigorous  climbing 
into  my  lap,  and  soon  the  two  girls  had  my 
S  65 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


head  between  their  hands  and  were  smother- 
ing me  with  kisses.  And  then  into  my  poor 
deaf  ears  came  the  words, '  Good-night,  gran'- 
ma,'  and  their  echo,  l  Dood-night,  dwan'ma.' 
Now  don't  you  ever  tell  me  they  're  naughty 
children,  for  I  know  better.  They  're  God's 
angels  sent  me  in  the  loneliness  of  these  last 
years  to  cheer  and  warm  my  old  heart  while 
I  wait." 

And  all  the  while  the  clamor  of  children's 
voices  continues.  After  the  splashing  of 
water  in  the  bath-tub,  with  many  an  "oo" 
and  "ugh"  and  much  laughter,  come  the 
usual  protests  against  getting  out  of  the  bath 
and  against  the  application  of  the  rough  towels. 
Then  comes  the  "  pitty  paer  "  (pretty  prayer), 
the  "  Our  Father,"  and  then  the  hugs  and 
kisses,  —  "Just  one  more,  mamma," — and 
that  oft  repeated.  Then  down  the  stairs 
comes  slowly  the  madonna  of  the  bath-tub, 
worn  with  the  recent  exertion,  and  yet  in  the 
66 


ALMOST    BUCOLIC 


light  —  turned  on  in  her  honor  —  looking 
the  picture  of  self-complacent  motherliness. 
With  a  tired  smile  on  her  face  she  says : 

"  Could  you  hear  my  lovers  making  love  to 
me  ?  Though  they  nearly  wear  me  out  every 
night,  yet  how  could  I  live  without  them  ? 
I  'm  so  glad  they  're  affectionate ;  are  n't  you  ? " 

Not  waiting  for  my  perfunctory  yes,  she 
continues,  "  If  they  were  n't  I  suppose  I  'd  go 
right  on  loving  them  and  doing  for  them  ;  but 
you  don't  know  how  much  easier  it  is  to 
wear  myself  out  for  them  when  in  the  midst 
of  my  hardest  tasks  Ada  says,  c  You  dear, 
good  mamma,  you ! '  or  Marie,  *  'Ou  'weer 
ting,  'ou  ! '  " 


IX 
STILL  BUCOLIC —  ALMOST 

JUNE  4,  1 88 1 As  is  our  wont,  we  ac- 
cept our  Marie's  invitation  and  "  do 
down  to  de  wibbah  and  wo  tone  in  de  watah  " 
(go  down  to  the  river  and  throw  stones  in  the 
water).  Our  river  walk  is  signalized  this 
time  by  a  huge  bouquet  of  syringas  that  fill 
the  whole  house  with  their  pungent  odor, 
drowning  the  delicate  fragrance  of  the  velvet 
roses  blooming  in  our  dooryard. 

After  our   wonted  rapture  over  the  long 
slanting  shadows  of  the  trees  on  the  water 
and  the   river  of  gold  flowing  between  the 
68 


STILL   BUCOLIC  — ALMOST 

shadows,  I  return  to  my  unfinished  task, 
the  sawing  of  dead  limbs  from  the  trees  in 
our  dooryard.  I  look  down,  upon  the  up- 
turned and  admiring  faces  of  my  girls.  Marie's 
expressive  eyes  plainly  say  :  u  That  papa  of 
mine  is  simply  wonderful ;  he  can  do  all  sorts 
of  impossible  things  !  Look  at  him  !  " 

Dear  credulous  one,  she  little  suspects 
how  impotent  her  father  feels  as  he  measures 
his  meagre  attainments  by  the  standard  of 
his  youthful  ambitions  ! 

To  gain  time  and  recover  my  breath  I 
climb  down  the  step-ladder,  and,  seated  on 
one  of  the  lower  steps,  fan  in  hand,  I  arrange 
a  foot-race  between  the  two,  one  to  run  one 
way  round  the  house,  the  other  the  other 
way.  I  can  see  by  the  twinkle  in  Ada's  eyes 
that  she  has  a  fit  of  generosity  and  intends  to 
let  Marie  win. 

"  One,  two,  three,"  and  they  are  off.  Soon 
they  appear  on  opposite  sides  of  the  house, 
69 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


their  faces  flushed,  their  mouths  open,  and 
with  as  much  of  a  giggle  proceeding  there- 
from as  their  well-nigh  exhausted  wind 
can  sustain.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  come, 
the  little  one  with  her  strong  limbs,  deep 
chest,  and  tremendous  will,  making  it  far 
from  easy  for  the  long-limbed  runner  to 
come  in  a  good  second  —  as  she  had  planned. 
As  they  rush  into  my  arms,  almost  causing 
the  step-ladder  to  collapse,  the  giggle  breaks 
out  into  a  laugh  and  a  gasp,  both  claiming 
their  reward  —  Marie  the  victor's  hug  and 
kiss,  and  Ada  the  consolation  kiss  and  hug. 

There  is  a  slam  of  the  stiff-springed  screen- 
door,  and  the  madonna  appears  upon  the 
scene,  blessing  it  with  her  smile.  After  a 
patient  hearing  of  each  version  of  the  race, 
she  gives  the  anticipated  invitation,  "  Come, 
children,  it 's  bedtime." 

Without  a  word  of  protest,  for  both  are 
in  an  amiable  mood  to-night,  the  tired  ones 
70 


STILL   BUCOLIC  — ALMOST 

give  me  their  good-night  kisses,  and  hand  in 
hand  with  the  mother  pass  out  of  my  day's 
life,  leaving  me  wondering  how  long  this  ideal 
obedience  will  last. 

An  angry  cry  from  the  bathroom  all  too 
soon  gives  me  my  answer. 


X 


SUNDAY  MORNING  AT  HOME  — A 
FRAGMENT 

JUNE  26,  1 88 1.  —  I  sit  in  my  easy-chair, 
ostensibly  writing  a  note,  but  in  fact  tak- 
ing a  mental  picture  of  the  group  near  the 
window.  The  mother,  in  loose  white  morn- 
ing gown,  is  sitting  in  a  low  chair  leaning 
forward  and  reading  the  words  from  a  collec- 
tion of  songs  for  children.  Ada  is  sitting  in 
her  little  rocking-chair  wriggling  and  twisting, 
as  is  her  wont  when  she  is  intensely  in  earnest. 
Marie  stands  leaning  against  her  mother,  stol- 
idly looking  at  the  song-book  upside  down, 
72 


SUNDAY   MORNING  AT   HOME 

with  her  index  finger  identifying  the  angels 
("  engles  "),  the  flowers  ("  wowers  "),  the 
birds  ("  buddies  "),  and  the  trees  ("  twees  "), 
as  the  mother  alternately  reads  and  sings. 
Then  they  join  their  leader  in  the  first  coup- 
let of  the  song.  The  mother  gives  me  a 
hopeless  glance,  but  heroically  continues,  line 
upon  line,  trying  to  keep  up  the  children's 
illusion  that  they  are  singing  in  time  and 
tune  ! 

In  actual  fact,  Marie's  voice  tends  to  a  low 
monotone,  and  Ada's  is  high-keyed  and  quaver- 
ing. My  hope  that  the  girls  would  be  found 
to  have  inherited  some  measure  of  their 
mother's  gift  of  song  is  finding  little  encourage- 
ment, for,  like  their  father  before  them,  their 
keen  enjoyme/it  of  music  is  coupled  with  a 
tantalizing  inability  to  reproduce  the  niceties 
of  time  and  tune.  But  assured  by  the  early 
experiences  of  the  mother,  who  denies  the 
possession  of  any  gift  save  that  of  persever- 
73 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


ance,  I  am  not  without  hope  that  each 
will  waken  some  morning  to  find  a  work 
of  grace  has  been  performed  —  that  her  voice, 
like  her  soul,  is  moved  with  concord  of  sweet 
sounds. 


74 


XI 

AN  EVENING  WITH  THE  ANIMALS 
IN  THE  PARK 

JUNE  30,  1881.  —  Instead  of  going  home 
at  the  usual  hour  this  evening  I  took  the 
car  for  the  park,  where  by  appointment  I 
was  to  meet  the  wife  and  children.  Arriv- 
ing on  the  ground  first,  I  threw  myself  upon 
the  grass  and  gave  myself  up  to  reflection. 
My  thoughts  were  drifting  back  to  the  old 
days,  when  the  solitude  of  parks  wooed  me 
only  to  disappoint  me.  The  rumbling  of  a 
car  cut  short  my  musings.  Looking  up,  I 
saw  two  little  bare  heads  and  two  pairs  of 
bare  arms  posed  cherub-like  in  the  car  win- 
75 


AN    OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


dow,  the  madonna  craning  her  neck  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  me.  I  had  thought  to  let  the 
girls  hunt  for  me  a  while ;  but,  on  the  moment, 
with  boyish  impulsiveness,  I  rushed  across  the 
rustic  foot-bridge  and  down  to  the  gate  to 
claim  my  kisses  and  to  relieve  the  burden- 
bearer  of  her  baskets. 

The  cherubs  were  earthily  hungry.  We 
proceeded  at  once  to  take  possession  of  a 
lunch-table  and  chairs,  and  were  soon  literally 
in  full  enjoyment  of  the  material  portion  of 
our  improvised  picnic.  Supper  over,  we  gath- 
ered up  the  fragments  and  fed  the  animals, 
the  children  wild  with  enjoyment  of  the 
novel  occupation.  They  took  especial  delight 
in  a  young  stag,  in  whose  big  soft  brown  eyes 
I  thought  I  saw  the  pathos  of  his  race  —  its 
tragic  fate  to  be  overmuch  admired  of  men, 
and  therefore,  strange  logic,  the  more  re- 
lentlessly hunted  down  !  But  the  children 
found  more  to  interest  them  in  the  'coons, 
76 


AN   EVENING   WITH   THE   ANIMALS 

with  their  almost  human  hands  held  out  palm 
upwards,  and  with  their  all  too  human  look 
of  greed.  The  timid  rabbits  made  faces 

O 

at  us,  and  retreated  to  their  dens.  The 
foxes  smelt  cadaverous  and  were  quarrel- 
some, and  Marie  strongly  objected  to  their 
"  mell."  We  found  the  squirrels  prosperous 
and  sleepy,  content  to  sit  in  their  respective 
holes  and  blink  at  us.  The  young  black 
eagles,  recently  imported  from  the  Oregon 
woods,  were  pitifully  spiritless,  tame  as  the 
chickens  in  the  keeper's  dooryard.  The 
prairie  dogs  amused  the  children  with  their 
short-distance  runs  and  their  solemn  observa- 
tions. Sitting  on  their  haunches,  they  stretched 
their  bodies  to  their  full  height,  as  if  ambitious 
to  see  the  world  and  be  in  it  yet  not  of 
it.  But  the  raccoons  proved  to  be  the  chief 
attraction.  In  the  story  of  the  picnic  given 
her  grandma  on  our  return  Marie  said  : 
"I  yaked  (liked)  de  pwaiwie  dogs  an'  de 
77 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


woxes  an'  de  'tag  wid  de  bid  yorns,  an'  de  bid 
buddies  in  de  bid  tage ;  but  de  bestest  of  all 
was  de  tunnin*  'ittle  toons.  Dey  had  yans 
yak  'ittle  dirls'  yans,  an'  dey  eat  dest  yak  'ittle 
dirls  eat,  feedin'  desselves  wid  deir  own  yans 
—  an'  widout  any  bib  on,  eider." 

This  last  was  evidently  intended  as  a  joke, 
for  it  was  followed  with  laughter  so  loud  as 
to  compel  her  grandma  to  disconnect  her 
speaking  tube. 


XII 

FOURTH   OF  JULY— A   TRYING 
INCIDENT   ON  THE   RIVER 

JULY  4,  1 88 1.  — The  muffled  rub-a-dub- 
dub  of  giant  firecrackers  exploding  in 
a  barrel  just  across  the  street  awakened  us  at 
about  five  o'clock  this  morning.  A  moment 
later  two  little  night-gowned  girls  were  danc- 
ing in  front  of  the  bay-window  downstairs, 
excitedly  gesticulating  to  the  big  boy  across 
the  street  to  whom  we  were  indebted  for  the 
startling  eye-opener.  Long  before  breakfast 
time  our  front  dooryard  was  littered  with  the 
red  and  gray  remains  of  myriad  firecrackers 
79 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


which  the  mother  had  bought  in  anticipation 
of  "  the  day  we  celebrate" — or  rather,  the 
day  we  used  to  celebrate.  Ada's  hands, 
cheeks,  and  lips  were  black  with  powder. 
Marie  was  bewailing  a  burned  and  blackened 
thumb  and  forefinger  —  bewailing,  yet  none 
the  less  eagerly  watching  her  wonderful  sister, 
and  her  yet  more  wonderful  father,  whose 
feats  at  arms  commanded  her  unstinted 
admiration. 

The  long-sustained  excitement  before 
breaking  her  fast  was  too  much  for  our  Ada. 
The  child  grew  so  cross  after  breakfast  that 
her  less  sensitive  sister  declared  there  was 
"  no  yibin'  (living)  wid  'er."  Recalling  my 
favorite  boy-and-man  remedy  for  tantrums,  I 
suggested  a  row  on  the  river  as  an  escape 
from  the  further  distractions  of  the  day. 
What  a  change  in  Ada's  face  !  The  droop- 
ing eyelids  lifted,  the  dull  eyes  lighted,  the 
pouting  lips  curved  with  smiles,  and  the  color 
80 


FOURTH   OF  JULY 


came  back  to  her  cheeks.  A  moment  later 
she  was  on  my  lap,  hysterically  kissing  me 
and  saying  over  and  over  again  the  child- 
word  for  pleasurable  anticipation,  "  Goody, 
goody,  goody  !  " 

Marie  was  ready  for  anything,  but  bash- 
fully intimated  that  she  would  like  to  have 
me  invite  the  afore-mentioned  big  boy  to  go 
along  with  us.  The  suggestion  brought  back 
to  Ada's  face  the  frown  presaging  wrath,  fol- 
lowed by  the  solemn  declaration  that  if 
Jimmie  Murray  had  to  go  just  to  please 
Marie  he  might  go,  but  she  'd  stay  home  and 
play  with  grandma ;  she  had  u  no  use  for 
Jimmie  "  and  would  n't  even  tolerate  him. 

Delivered  of  her  ultimatum,  she  w'alked  on 
ahead  and  awaited  results.  Of  course  she 
carried  her  point. 

Jimmie  Murray,  not  knowing  what  he  'd 
lost,  and  therefore  not  robbed  at  all,  walked 
with  us  down  to  the  boat-house  to  give  us  a 
6  81 


AN   OLD    MAN'S    IDYL 


send-off.  He  chose  to  walk  by  Ada's  side, 
and  the  two  were  close  behind  me.  I 
listened  for  the  inevitable  explosion ;  but, 
somehow,  the  inevitable  did  not  happen. 
As  Jimmie  gave  our  boat  the  final  push,  Ada, 
seated  close  behind  me,  remarked  in  under- 
tone : 

"  Papa,  if  you  want  to  row  back  and  get 
Jimmie  I  won't  mind ;  there 's  plenty  of 
room  on  this  seat  by  me." 

I  smiled  —  not  outwardly,  for  I  knew  the 
child  was  in  no  frame  of  mind  to  bear  ridicule. 
Instead  of  meekly  availing  myself  of  the 
gracious  permission  I  blundered  into  the  ill- 
fitting  role  of  disciplinarian.  Partly  turning 
my  head,  I  said  : 

"  No,  my  dear ;  I  planned  this  boat-ride 
hoping  to  make  my  Ada  happy  once  more, 
and  I  would  n't  think  of  taking  any  one  she 
so  thoroughly  dislikes." 

The  irony  sank  deep  —  too  deep.  The  un- 
82 


FOURTH   OF  JULY 


gracious  look  came  back  to  the  child's  face, 
—  I  knew  it  without  turning  round,  —  and 
in  a  spiteful  undertone  she  retorted : 

"  But,  papa,  you  don't  understand ;  I 
did  n't  want  him  to  come,  but  I  —  but 
I  —  "  The  sentence  was  broken  by  a  flood 
of  tears. 

The  innocent  cause  of  this  fresh  outburst 
called  out  from  the  shore,  "  What 's  the 
matter,  Ada  ?  " 

Ada  answered  by  girlishly  turning  her  back 
to  him. 

Meantime,  Marie  and  the  mother,  seated 
in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  were  intently  watch- 
ing the  antics  of  a  swarm  of  water-bugs  flit- 
ting and  circling  over  the  surface  of  the 
water  along  the  shore. 

"  WJiat  dey  do  dat  wor  (for)  ?  "  inquired 
Marie,  referring  to  their  lightning-like  ins 
and  outs. 

In  default  of  a  better  answer  the  mother 
83 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


said,  "I  don't  know,  dear,  —  just  for  fun,  I 
guess." 

The  infant  philosopher  thought  a  moment, 
and  then  offered  her  solution  of  the  ques- 
tion :  "I  dess  dey  want  to  mate  us  link  dey  's 
vewy  busy  doin'  tings  for  deir  mammas  !  " 

Soon  we  rounded  the  river  bend  and  found 
protection  from  the  sun's  fierce  glare  in  the 
shade  of  the  giant  elms  along  the  shore. 
The  cooling  shade  and  the  welcome  silence 
brought  repose  to  the  perturbed  spirit  behind 
me. 

At  Ada's  request  I  rowed  toward  a  densely 
wooded  island.  Soon  the  boat's  prow  sank 
into  the  black  mud,  and  we  alighted.  The 
children  were  charmed  and  somewhat  awed 
by  the  strange  stillness — relieved  only  by  the 
shrill  alarm  of  a  kingfisher  in  the  top  of 
a  huge  elm  whose  branches  stretched  far  out 
over  the  water.  They  were  startled,  and 
brought  to  a  standstill,  by  a  red  squirrel  star- 
84 


FOURTH   OF  JULY 


ing  at  them  from  the  middle  of  a  cow-path 
leading  from  the  water's  edge  to  the  covert. 
Rallying,  the  children,  hand  in  hand,  ad- 
vanced upon  the  adversary.  The  squirrel, 
quick  to  note  the  change  of  front,  turned  and 
ran  up  a  tree.  From  a  crotch  of  a  tall 
hickory  he  watched  our  every  movement  with 
a  persistency  that  seemed  to  embarrass  the 
children. 

Ada,  recalling  the  story  of  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  in  no  wise  ambitious  for  an  island  experi- 
ence, expressed  a  lively  fear  lest  our  boat 
should  float  off  and  leave  us  without  so  much 
as  a  match  to  start  a  fire  with  or  a  cookie  to 
eat. 

Marie  said  she  did  n't  care,  and  threw  her- 
self down  upon  a  bunch  of  tall,  thin,  pale- 
green  grass  underlaid  with  mud,  exclaiming, 
"  I  'd  dust  yak  to  yib  yere." 

Ada's  motherly  solicitude  here  asserted 
itself.  She  grabbed  Marie  by  both  hands  and 
85 


AN    OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


lifted  her  to  her  feet,  exclaiming,  "  Mamma, 
look  at  Marie's  span-clean  dress  !  It's  a  sight 
to  behold ! " 

And  sure  enough,  Marie's  skirt  behind 
looked  as  though  a  crude  attempt  had  been 
made  to  sketch  in  charcoal  a  half-moon,  with 
a  raw  edge  of  mountain  peaks  and  canyons ! 
The  child  blushed  at  her  indiscretion  and  de- 
clared she  wanted  to  "  do  wight  yome  an'  dit 
on  a  tean  dess." 

To  satisfy  her  we  started  down  the  river. 
A  delightfully  refreshing  breeze  mitigated  the 
almost  noonday  heat  of  the  sun.  A  sudden 
gust  of  wind  lifted  Ada's  sailor-hat  from  her 
head  and  then  passed  on,  letting  the  hat  fall 
flat  upon  the  surface  of  the  water. 

Quicker  than  I  can  tell  what  happened,  the 
excitable  child  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
agony,  and,  bending  far  out  over  the  side  of 
the  boat,  reached  for  the  truant  hat.  In  doing 
so  she  lost  her  balance,  and  with  a  scream  of 
86 


FOURTH    OF  JULY 


terror  on  her  lips  fell  headlong  into  the  water. 
In  a  moment  I  caught  the  folds  of  her  dress, 
and  in  the  next  I  held  her  in  my  arms.  The 
mother,  always  equal  to  an  emergency,  coolly 
steadied  me  in  the  rocking  boat  while  I  held 
the  child's  head  slightly  downwards,  that  the 
water  might  pass  from  her  nostrils  and  mouth. 

All  trace  of  color  had  fled  from  our  Ada's 
face ;  her  lips  were  pale  and  there  was  no  soul 
in  her  half-opened  eyes. 

«  Does  her  heart  beat  ?  Feel !  feel !  "  I 
exclaimed  excitedly. 

Oh,  that  look  of  anguish  as  the  mother  felt 
for  the  life  of  her  child  ! 

"  I  can't  tell,"  was  the  only  response,  and 
the  words  fell  shiveringly  from  tightly  com- 
pressed lips. 

I  sank  to  the  seat  with  my  precious  burden. 
Holding  the  child  on  my  knees,  face  down- 
ward, I  too  felt  for  the  life  which  the  pale 
face  and  staring  eyes  seemed  to  deny  me. 
87 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


Not  daring  to  trust  my  first  impression  I 
waited  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  keeping  my 
anxious  eyes  well  averted  from  the  mother's 
inquiring  gaze.  As  I  waited  Marie's  piteous 
wail  fell  on  my  ears,  adding  intensity  to  my 
agony. 

Yes,  the  heart  was  beating  faintly,  with  now 
and  then  a  strange  flutter ;  but  it  was  beating. 
I  could  not  trust  myself  to  speak  the  words 
for  which  the  mother  waited,  but  instead  I 
looked  her  full  in  the  face  and  smiled. 

"  Thank  God  !  thank  God  !  "  came  from 
between  her  firmly  set  teeth ;  and  then,  with 
enforced  calmness,  the  mother  said,  "  Let  me 
hold  my  darling  and  win  her  back  to  life." 

I  placed  the  limp  form  in  the  arms  eagerly 
held  out  to  receive  the  precious  burden,  and 
thus  freed  put  forth  all  my  reserve  of  strength 
to  reach  the  landing. 

The  half-opened  eyes  slowly  closed;  the 
lips  moved  ;  a  suggestion  of  color  came  back 
88 


FOURTH   OF  JULY 


to  them.  Then  the  eyelids  were  raised,  and 
instead  of  the  vacant  stare  the  blue  orbs  gave 
a  look  of  puzzled  inquiry.  The  lips  moved 
again  —  this  time  with  an  effort  to  speak. 
The  mother's  quick  ear  caught  the  low  whis- 
pered word, "  Mamma." 

"  Yes,  darling,  mamma 's  here,  and  holding 
you  in  her  arms." 

"  Mamma,  I  'm  cold." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know  it ;  but  papa 's  rowing 
with  all  his  might,  and  we  '11  soon  be  home." 

"  Papa !  " 

Never  had  the  word  sounded  so  sweet  to 
my  ears.  Never  till  then  had  I  fully  realized 
how  precious  that  little  life  had  become  to  me 
—  what  a  hold  our  first-born  had  upon  my 
heart. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  I  responded,  still  pulling  on 
the  oars. 

"  How  did  I  get  so  wet  ?  " 

Almost  breathless  from  excitement  and 
89 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


the  exertion  of  rowing,  I  answered,  "  The 
wind  blew  your  hat  into  the  river  —  you 
tried  to  reach  it  —  you  leaned  over  too  far  — 
and  —  " 

Ada  suddenly  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  and 
turning  upon  me  made  this  characteristic  in- 
quiry, giving  satisfactory  evidence  of  her 
complete  return  to  earth  :  "  Papa,  did  you 
row  off  and  leave  my  hat  in  the  water  ?  I 
believe  you  did." 

Here  the  mother  came  to  my  relief  with, 
"  Ada,  your  dear  father  was  too  busy  saving 
your  life  to  give  your  hat  even  a  moment's 
thought.  I  promise  you  another  and  better 
one  as  soon  as  I  can  go  down  street." 

By  that  time  we  had  reached  the  landing. 
I  bore  the  shivering  child  up  the  hill,  across 
the  field,  and  to  her  cosy  little  room  upstairs, 
overlooking  the  river  that  had  so  nearly 
claimed  her  as  its  own. 

That  was  twelve  hours  ago.  As  I  write 
90 


FOURTH    OF  JULY 


the  record  of  this  never-to-be-forgotten  event 
in  my  heart-life  the  object  of  our  solicitude  is 
sleeping  soundly  in  the  next  room,  her  regular 
breathing  a  gratifying  reassurance  that  all  is 
well  with  her. 


XIII 

WE  TAKE  THE  CHILDREN  TO  THE 
FAIR 

AUGUST  1 6,  1 88 1.—  Children's  day  at 
the  State  Fair,  and  a  children's  day  it 
was  for  us  !  Of  course  we  took  a  lunch- 
box,  for  a  lunch  under  a  tree  with  myriad 
novel  sights  and  sounds  about  us  is  no  small 
part  of  the  fun.  After  emptying  the  capa- 
cious box  of  its  sandwiches,  hard-boiled  eggs, 
cake,  macaroons,  peaches,  plums,  pears,  and 
bananas,  the  children  demanded  ice-cream  ! 
We  yielded  to  the  pressure  and  adjourned 
to  the  nearest  booth,  where  they  partook  of 
suspiciously  blue-white  cream,  pronouncing 
92 


it  good,  while  we  drank  black  coffee  on 
which  the  milk  produced  no  other  effect  than 
to  impart  a  grayish  tint  thereto.  This  we 
pronounced  good !  I  mention  the  instance 
to  illustrate  the  mood  in  which  visitors  should 
always  approach  the  ordeal  of  a  lunch  in  a 
booth  at  a  fair. 

The  live  things  on  exhibition  attracted  us 
first.  On  our  way  to  the  stables  Marie  com- 
pelled us  to  halt  and  observe  two  melancholy 
monkeys  performing  on  a  carpet-covered  box 
in  front  of  one  of  the  show  tents.  The  per- 
formance over,  the  older  monkey  maternally 
took  the  younger  one  across  her  knee  and 
seriously  resumed  her  task  —  that  of  remov- 
ing fleas  from  its  fur.  Marie  wanted  to  know 
if  she  was  doing  that  to  make  "  wun."  Ada, 
scornfully  turning  on  her  sister,  exclaimed, 
"  Does  the  mamma  monkey  look  as  though 
she  was  doing  it  for  fun?  Come  on j  I've 
seen  enough  of  that." 
93 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


We  turned  aside  to  see  the  poultry.  Ada, 
in  all  seriousness,  wanted  to  know  why  the 
roosters  all  began  crowing  when  they  saw  us 
coming.  When  told  there  were  so  many  of 
them  that  there  was  a  salute  for  everybody,  she 
wondered  how  they  arranged  to  take  turns  at 
it !  Marie  could  scarcely  keep  her  fingers  out 
of  the  cages  —  until  a  big  Plymouth  Rock 
rooster  fiercely  pecked  at  her.  She  jerked 
back,  turned  pale  and  then  red,  her  two 
dimples  revealing  her  embarrassment.  After 
that  she  held  her  mother's  hand  tightly, 
evincing  no  further  desire  to  experiment. 
Ada  had  a  way  of  wandering  off,  but  always 
keeping  some  one  of  us  in  view.  Once  she 
came  running  back,  with  the  wonder  look  in 
her  eyes,  and  — 

"  What  do  you  think  I  saw,  papa  ?    I  saw 

a  hen  lay  an  egg  !     She  did  n't  lay  it  down, 

either ;  she  just  dropped  it !     And  then  she 

clucked  and  went  on  eating  as  though  noth- 

94 


TAKE  THE  CHILDREN   TO   THE   FAIR 

ing  'd  happened  !  And  then  a  lady  came  along 
and  reached  in  and  put  the  egg  in  her  basket. 
I  peeked  in  and  saw  she  had  her  basket  'most 
full.  What  time  is  it  now,  papa  ?  " 

I  told  her  it  was  ten  minutes  past  two 
o'clock. 

She  thought  a  while  and  then  came  at  me 
again  with,  "  I  wonder  if  two  o'clock  is  n't 
the  time  when  the  hens  lays  their  eggs  ? " 

She  had  thus  early  grasped  the  modern  idea 
of  "  system  "  in  business  ! 

Marie  studied  the  ducks  and  geese,  but  at 
a  safe  distance,  and  finally  in  an  undertone 
confided  to  her  sister  her  discovery  that  they 
looked  just  like  the  ducks  and  geese  in  Ada's 
First  Reader.  Ada,  with  the  half-scornful, 
half-patronizing  air  of  one  who  has  attended 
fairs  before,  asked  her  sister  how  she  'spected 
them  to  be  if  not  like  those  in  the  book. 

Marie,  objecting  to  the  question  as  irrele- 
vant and  immaterial,  declined  to  answer,  mov- 
95 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


ing  on   to  other  objects   of  interest,   which 
happened  to  be  the  sheep. 

A  man  was  seen  shearing  —  or  rather  bar- 
bering  —  an  enormous  ram,  evidently  to  make 
him  more  presentable.  Marie  wondered  if  the 
operation  hurt  him.  Ada  remarked  that  the 
beast  looked  as  contented  as  her  papa  did  one 
time  when  she  saw  him  in  a  barber's  chair 
having  his  hair  cut. 

In  an  inclosure  between  the  sheds  was  a 
herd  of  Angora  goats.  Here  Marie  got  even 
with  her  knowing  sister.  Her  mother  had 
already  given  her  a  five-minute  lecture  on 
goats  when  Ada,  arriving  on  the  ground,  ven- 
tured to  remark  that  she  liked  these  sheep 
better  than  the  others  because  they  were 
cleaner  and  had  such  funny  whiskers.  Marie 
turned  on  her  with,  "  Don't  you  know  doats 
from  yeep  ?  "  and  the  triumphant  look  on 
her  face  removed  all  evidence  of  her  recent 
humiliation. 

96 


TAKE   THE  CHILDREN  TO   THE   FAIR 

Ada  developed  much  interest  in  the  Jerseys 
in  the  stable  beyond.  She  came  toward  me 
and  in  an  undertone  said :  "  Papa,  ask  the 
man  why  he  does  n't  take  off  those  blankets 
when  the  weather  is  so  hot."  The  man 
overheard  the  question  and  with  patronizing 
good-nature  laconically  answered,  "  Fleas." 

Marie  had  missed  her  afternoon  nap.  Bulls 
and  goats  began  to  look  alike  to  her.  So  we 
cut  short  our  general  sight-seeing  and  started 
in  the  direction  of  the  grand-stand. 

On  a  platform  in  front  of  "  The  Mysteries 
of  Paris "  stood  on  exhibition,  wrapped  in 
tawdry  robes,  three  hideously  be-painted  and 
be-frizzled  females.  "  Papa,"  said  Ada,  in  all 
seriousness,  u  did  you  hear  the  man  call  those 
ladies  beauties  ? " 

I  answered  "  Yes,"  and  moved  on  to  buy 

my  grand-stand  tickets.     Later,  Ada's  hand 

slipped    into    mine,    and    regardless    of    the 

lapse  of  time,   the  child    began  where    she 

7  97 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


left   off,  with  "  But,  papa,  do  you  call  them 
beauties  ?  " 

I  answered  "  No." 

She  looked  relieved,  and  added,  "  I  don't 
see  what  right  the  man  had  to  call  'em 
beauties,  then,  do  you  ?  " 

I  meekly  remarked  that  the  man's  say-so 
did  n't  make  it  so. 

As  we  mounted  the  stairs  I  faintly  heard 
her  inquiry,  u  Why  not,  papa  ?  " 

Poor  unsuspecting  child  !  How  much  of 
skepticism,  otherwise  called  worldly  wisdom, 
one  must  acquire  simply  in  self-defence  ! 

We  had  hardly  taken  our  seats  in  the 
grand-stand  before  Ada's  wants  began  to 
make  themselves  felt.  Alas,  "the  double- 
jointed,  humpbacked  California  peanuts " 
proved  to  be  no  better  than  those  she  had 
bought  from  the  peanut  man  on  the  corner 
near  our  home.  The  "  ice-cold  lemonade  " 
turned  out  to  be  almost  cool ! 
98 


TAKE   THE   CHILDREN   TO  THE    FAIR 

Then  came  the  all-compelling  score-card 
man  with  his  lingo :  "  The  names,  the 
numbers,  the  color  of  the  horses,  the  color 
of  the  drivers,  the  owners  of  the  horses,  —  a 
complete  encyclopaedia  of  the  races,  —  all  for 
ten  cents.  You  can't  keep  the  run  of  the 
races  without  'em." 

The  man's  eloquence,  coupled  with  his 
benevolent  regard  for  our  enjoyment  of  the 
races,  commanded  Ada's  respect  and  ad- 
miration, and  she  recommended  that  I 
invest.  I  told  her  I  drew  the  line  on  score- 
cards. 

"  But,  papa,  did  n't  you  hear  the  man 
say  you  could  n't  get  along  without  one  ? 
And  see,  he  has  n't  more  'n  three  or  four 
left." 

With  that  same  superior  air  with  which 

she  communicates  wisdom  to  her  little  sister, 

I  looked  down  on  her  in  her  innocence  and 

said,  "  My  dear,  the  man  is  trying  to  make 

99 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


us  think  we  can't  get  along  without  his 
score-cards ;  but  I  find  it  easier  to  live 
without  them  than  with  them." 

Another  seed  of  skepticism  thus  found  lodg- 
ment in  the  child's  mind,  in  some  cranny 
in  which  it  may  lie  undisturbed  for  years. 
What  will  be  its  flowering  in  that  future 
which  is  our  constant  fear  and  hope  ?  May 
all  this  sorry  planting  of  unfaith  be  followed 
in  due  time  by  the  richer  flowering  of  faith  in 
whatsoever  things  are  true  ! 

The  antics  of  the  roustabout  athletes  made 
the  children  laugh  uproariously.  Ada  won- 
dered why  the  clown  in  baggy  trousers  did  n't 
get  mad  at  the  man  in  pink  tights  who  pushed 
and  cuffed  and  threw  him  about  so  unmerci- 
fully. 

"  Oh,  that 's  only  in  fun,"  I  explained. 

Not  satisfied,  she  persisted,  "  But,  papa, 
it  hurts  just  the  same."  Her  inward  look 
informed  me  that  she  was  recalling  the 
100 


TAKE  THE   CHILDREN  TO   THE   FAIR 

consequences  of  certain  "  wunny  "  plays  in 
which  her  sister  was  wont  to  indulge. 

Then  came  the  wonderful  family  of  ground 
and  lofty  tumblers  —  two  men,  a  big  girl,  and 
a  little  boy,  all  attired  in  bronze-colored 
tights.  The  apparently  reckless  way  in 
which  the  men  tossed  the  little  fellow  back 
and  forth  between  them  terrorized  the  chil- 
dren, until  I  explained  to  them  the  uses  of  the 
big  net  underneath  their  base  of  operations. 
Ada  whispered  her  desire  to  play  that  with 
me  sometime.  Marie  said,  "  I  no  yak  dat," 
and  turned  her  back  on  the  whole  perform- 
ance. 

With  nothing  but  people  to  look  at,  Marie's 
inclination  to  sleep  returned.  Her  eyelids 
finally  refused  to  remain  apart,  and  curling 
up  on  the  bench  with  her  head  in  her  mother's 
lap,  she  went  off  into  slumber-land.  There- 
after the  shouts  of  men  interested  in  the  races 
and  the  calls  of  the  vendors  made  no  impres- 
101 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


sion  on  her.  A  half-hour  later,  some  earth- 
call  which  we  did  not  hear  suddenly  brought 
her  back  to  us.  Opening  her  big  blue  eyes 
she  gave  the  regulation  "  where-am-I  "  look, 
which  was  soon  followed  by  smiling  glances 
of  recognition.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was 
one  of  us  again,  and  as  usual,  clamoring  for 
the  unattainable  —  in  this  instance  a  "  dint  o' 
water." 

The  children  took  almost  no  interest  in  the 
races,  though  their  parents  became  mildly 
excited  over  a  spirited  pacing  race,  —  spirited 
because  the  judge  had  substituted  a  disinter- 
ested driver  for  one  who  had  shown  himself 
too  interested  to  win  the  two  previous  heats. 

Ada  filed  with  me  a  protest  which  didn't 
reach  the  judge's  ear.  It  was  real  mean,  she 
thought,  for  the  drivers  to  sit  on  the  horses' 
tails.  When  one  of  the  drivers  mercilessly 
plied  the  lash  to  his  horse's  side  she  was 
wildly  indignant,  and  declared  she  would  go 
102 


TAKE   THE  CHILDREN  TO  THE   FAIR 

home  if  he  did  that  again.  When  told  that 
was  the  way  the  man  had  of  informing  his 
horse  that  he  was  expected  to  go  just  a  little 
faster,  she  indignantly  replied  : 

"  The  horse  knew  that  before  the  man 
whipped  him ;  could  n't  he  see  as  well  as  the 
man  could,  that  he  'd  have  to  go  faster  or 
else  he  'd  get  beat  ?  " 

Being  no  horseman,  and  being  in  full 
sympathy  with  the  horse,  I  abandoned  any 
special  plea  for  the  man  and  tacitly  admitted 
that  the  child's  foolishness  might  be  wiser 
than  the  driver's  wisdom. 

But  the  crowning  exhibition  of  the  after- 
noon was  that  given  by  the  female  lion-tamer. 
Ada  was  shocked  that  two  big  men  would 
"  stand  there  and  let  a  lady  go  into  that  cage 
alone."  "  Why  did  n't  they  go  in  ?  Sup- 
pose the  lion  should  bite  her  hand  off! 
There  !  see  him  grab  the  stick  in  her  hand  ! 
Next  he  '11  have  her  arm  in  his  mouth  ! " 
103 


AN    OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


And  then  she  screamed.  When  she  saw 
everybody  looking  at  her  and  smiling,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears  and,  her  face  in  her 
mother's  lap,  she  gave  way  to  violent  sob- 
bing. When  finally  the  madame  stepped 
down  and  out  of  the  cage,  and  the  doors  were 
closed  on  the  beast,  Ada  looked  up  through 
her  tears  and  whispered  to  her  mother,  "  I  'm 
glad  she  's  out,  anyway,  and  I  guess  she  is 
too ! "  Marie  assumed  a  superior  air  and 
said  to  her  sister,  "  I  knowed  the  yady  'd  det 
out  all  wight." 

The  crowd  surged  toward  the  several 
exits.  Soon  we  found  ourselves  packed  into 
a  street  car.  A  kind-hearted  Hebrew  held 
Marie  on  his  lap  and  vainly  tried  to  engage 
her  in  conversation.  After  supper  we  each 
gave  grandma  an  account  of  our  individual 
experiences  during  the  day.  When  bedtime 
came,  grandma  said  to  the  children,  "  I  've 
been  to  the  fair,  too."  This  enigmatical 
104 


TAKE   THE   CHILDREN   TO  THE   FAIR 

remark  compelled  a  labored  explanation,  for 
it  was  not  easy  to  make  the  children  com- 
prehend just  how  it  was  possible  for  grandma 
to  go  and  yet  not  go,  to  see  and  yet  not  see ; 
another  of  life's  lessons,  one  which  only 
the  aged  are  content  to  learn. 


105 


XIV 

ADA'S   BIRTHDAY   PARTY 

AUGUST  22,  1 88 1.  — The  event  has 
occurred,  and  we  are  rapidly  recover- 
ing !  Ada  has  had  her  long  dreamt-of  and 
much  talked-of  party  in  celebration  of  her 
sixth  birthday.  The  precedent  of  birthday 
parties  was  established  early  in  the  child's 
society  life,  the  one  limitation  put  upon  them 
being  that  the  number  of  her  invited  guests 
should  not  exceed  the  number  of  her  years 
on  earth.  This  year,  however,  we  made  an 
exception  to  the  rule  as  to  numbers,  in  favor 
of  a  boy  in  the  neighborhood  who  could  not 
106 


ADA'S   BIRTHDAY   PARTY 

be  ignored,  and  the  consequence  of  this  single 
exception  was  a  final  list  of  seventeen  guests 
—  and  no  "  regrets." 

Returning  home  at  five  to  assist  in  enter- 
taining, I  found  my  new  green-painted  wheel- 
barrow the  object  of  general  admiration.  I 
innocently  offered  to  give  the  littlest  girl  of 
the  party  a  ride  around  the  house,  and  she 
promptly  accepted.  On  my  way  home  I 
had  puzzled  my  brain  to  invent  some  novel 
way  of  contributing  to  the  gayety  of  the  oc- 
casion. My  trial  trip  around  the  house  set- 
tled the  question  !  After  I  had  made  the 
seventeenth  trip  with  my  wheelbarrow  I 
threw  myself  upon  the  grass  panting  and 
perspiring  with  the  unwonted  exercise  ;  but 
my  two  hopefuls,  with  that  injured  look 
which  carries  all  before  it,  mercilessly  in- 
sisted that  they  had  n't  yet  had  their  turn ; 
and  so  I  made  the  record  nineteen  !  I  then 
took  advantage  of  the  age  limit  and  retired 
107 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


from  active  service,  content  to  watch  the  fun, 
and  if  necessary,  keep  the  peace. 

The  children  sampled  all  the  games ; 
played  with  all  the  toys  ;  by  turns  ridiculed, 
and  then  occupied  our  girls'  piano-box  play- 
house under  the  walnut  tree  in  the  back  yard  ; 
ransacked  the  barn,  their  shouts  wildly  alarm- 
ing the  horse  in  the  box-stall ;  played  drop- 
the-handkerchief  in  the  same  old  shy  way  we 
used  to  play  it  more  than  a  half-century  ago ; 
and  finally  played  hide-and-seek  —  which 
game  we  used  to  call  "  Hi  Spy,"  the  "  H  " 
doubtless  being  part  of  our  inheritance  from 
English  ancestors.  In  due  time  the  gracious 
presence  of  the  mother  dawned  upon  the 
little  folks,  and  the  silence  which  followed 
was  broken  by  her  welcome  invitation, 
"  Come,  children,  come  to  the  dining-room." 

What  a  scampering !  What  eager,  ex- 
pectant looks  !  As  they  filed  in  and  saw  the 
profusion  of  flowers,  and  the  marvellously 
108 


ADA'S    BIRTHDAY   PARTY 

wrought  centre-piece,  the  dazzling  array  of 
silver,  cut  glass,  and  decorated  china,  — mainly 
relics  of  our  wedding,  now  nearly  nine  years 
past,  —  there  was  a  general  "  Oh  !  "  —  the 
exclamation  more  or  less  subdued  by  culti- 
vation until  almost  lost  on  the  tongue  of  the 
oldest  girl.  Ada  and  Marie  looked  round 
in  triumph,  the  self-complacent  smile  of  their 
faces  plainly  saying,  "  I  knew  it  would  sur- 
prise you." 

There  was  an  appalling  calm  —  the  calm 
preceding  the  storm  !  The  look  on  every 
face  said,  "  What  next  ?  "  I  went  about 
from  one  to  another,  propping  up  the  smaller 
boys  and  girls  with  choice  quartos  from  my 
library.  Then  came  the  several  courses,  one 
after  another  in  quick  succession,  and  yet  too 
slow  to  satisfy  those  play-sharpened  appetites. 
Our  guests  were  not  long  in  reaching  the 
hilarious  period  which  comes  to  normal 
diners-out  —  we  older  ones  more  or  less 
109 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


successfully  controlling  the  impulse  to  be 
jolly,  the  degree  of  success  depending  on 
the  occasion.  When  the  stuffing  period 
neared  its  close  the  mistress  of  ceremonies 
changed  the  key  by  bringing  in  a  platter  of 
startlingly  variegated  ice-cream.  The  small 
boys  shouted,  the  girls  giggled,  and  —  to  cut 
my  long  story  short  —  the  feast  ended  in  a 
swirl  of  good-fellowship. 

As  I  watched  the  minority  representation 
of  my  own  sex,  I  indulged  in  the  reflection 
that  boys  of  five  and  six  and  boys  of  fifty 
and  sixty  are  not  so  far  apart,  after  all.  A 
glass  or  two  of  wine  administered  to  the  old 
boys  on  occasion  effectually  bridges  the 
canyon  between  youth  and  age. 

A  game  of  fox-and-geese,  indulged  in  by 
the  boys  after  dinner,  made  the  party  too 
much  of  a  neighborhood  affair  to  suit  the 
girls.  Most  of  the  boys  strayed  so  far  that 
they  forgot  to  return  and  pay  their  adieux  to 
no 


ADA'S    BIRTHDAY   PARTY 

their  hostess.  The  big  girl  of  the  party  was 
last  to  go,  remarking  to  Ada  that  she  had 
had  "  a  perfectly  lovely  time." 

When  calm  was  restored,  forgetting  the 
slight  the  boys  had  unthinkingly  put  upon 
her,  our  six-year-old  came  up  to  me  and  with 
wild  rolling  of  the  eyes  exclaimed,  "  Papa,  I 
never  had  such  a  good  time  !  "  And  then,  to 
make  it  more  emphatic,  she  added,  "  Never, 
never  in  all  my  born  days  !  " 

I  asked  her  where  she  found  the  expres- 
sion "  in  all  my  born  days  !  " 

Her  answer  was,  "  I  won't  be  sure,  papa, 
but  I  think  I  heard  you  use  it  once." 

I  could  only  say,  "  I  think  you  are  mis- 
taken." 

After  a  minute  of  silence  Ada  called  to 
her  mother  and  said,  "  O  mamma,  I  wish  I 
could  be  seven  very  soon  !  " 

Just  how  old  are  we  when  we  cease  to 
wish  that  time  would  move  faster  ? 
in 


XV 
TRYING   TO   TOUCH   BOTTOM 

OEPTEMBER  5,  1881.  — Labor  Day 
*-*  with  its  enforced  rest  has  given  me  a 
quiet  half-day  at  home.  To-morrow,  our 
eldest  having  graduated  from  the  kinder- 
garten and  said  good-bye  to  all  its  pretty  and 
helpfully  suggestive  make-believes,  will  enter 
upon  the  serious  business  of  childhood  and 
youth,  —  and  I  might  as  well  add,  the  seri- 
ous business  of  life,  for  at  no  time  will  her 
education  really  cease  until  her  life  shall  end, 
and  possibly  not  then. 

Why  all  this  serious  business  of  education  ? 
Why  not  flee  to  the  woods  or  to  the  prairie 
112 


TRYING  TO   TOUCH   BOTTOM 

or  "  as  a  bird,  to  the  mountain,"  and  escape 
the  strain  ?  In  exceptional  moods  I  can 
only  answer,  "Why  not?"  But  ordinarily 
it  is  quite  enough  for  me  to  recognize  the 
innate  desire  of  the  child  and  the  man  to 
know,  not  simply  the  lore  of  fields  and 
woods  and  hills,  but  also  the  learning  of  the 
schools ;  to  possess  ourselves  of  as  much  as 
we  can  use  of  the  rich  legacy  of  the  past ;  to 
utilize  this  legacy  for  present  ends  and  pass 
it  on  with  interest  to  those  who  shall  come 
after  us ;  to  sit  down  with  the  kings  and 
queens  and  princes  and  princesses  in  the 
realm  of  mind,  who  from  "  the  gray  dawn  of 
the  world  "  till  our  own  full-orbed  day  have 
ruled  and  governed  men  and  blessed  them  — 
to  sit  down  with  them  at  the  feast  of  books, 
their  inspired  and  inspiring  utterances,  and 
even  their  simple  presence,  dignifying  and 
enriching  life  and  giving  to  finite  minds  soul- 
lifting  glimpses  of  the  Infinite. 
8  113 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


How  much  of  hard  struggle  and  glad  at- 
tainment is  included  in  this  long  career  on 
which  our  first-born  will  to-morrow  so  eagerly 
enter !  Even  before  the  preliminary  course 
—  her  education  in  the  schools — shall  have 
been  completed,  I  may  have  been  matricu- 
lated into  I  know  not  what  of  discipline  and 
growth.  But  whenever  the  transfer  of  ac- 
tivities shall  occur,  I  trust  I  may  find  com- 
fort in  the  thought  which  gives  me  comfort 
now:  that  this  soul  of  mine,  this  entity 
recognizable  here,  shall  live  on  and  on,  and 
shall  grow  more  and  more  into  the  stature 
and  likeness  of  Him  whose  we  are  and 
whose  impress  we  bear.  The  immortality 
we  have  in  our  children  is  an  ever-present 
comfort,  and  not  without  its  assurance, — 
or  at  least  the  suggestion,  indefinite  though 
it  be,  —  of  our  existence  beyond  the  grave. 
The  immortality  of  a  parent  in  his  children 
is  a  miracle  actually  demonstrated  before  our 
114 


TRYING   TO   TOUCH   BOTTOM 

eyes.  Who  dare  say  there  are  no  miracles 
save  those  our  mortal  visions  include  and  our 
finite  minds  can  grasp  ?  Be  that  as  it  may, 
it  is  at  least  worth  much  to  be 

"Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 
In  minds  made  better  by  their  presence." 


XVI 

THE   GRANDMA'S   EIGHTIETH 
BIRTHDAY 

FEBRUARY  n,  1882.  — Before  my 
memory  of  the  event  is  dulled  by  time, 
I  want  to  put  upon  paper  some  record  of 
yesterday  —  a  red-letter  day  in  our  home.  It 
was  nothing  less  than  the  beloved  grand- 
mother's eightieth  birthday.  At  first  reluc- 
tant because  of  her  physical  weakness  and 
infirmities,  she  finally  yielded  to  the  impor- 
tunity of  the  daughter  and  granddaughters, 
and  consented  to  receive  her  friends  — "  if 
alive  and  well." 

116 


GRANDMA'S   EIGHTIETH   BIRTHDAY 

The  girlies  became  very  much  wrought 
up  over  the  anticipated  event,  and  many 
were  the  disputes  between  them  as  to  the 
part  which  each  should  play.  It  was  finally 
agreed  —  the  mother  being  the  arbitrator — 
that  Ada  should  open  the  door  and  say  to  the 
ladies,  "Please  walk  upstairs  and  turn  to  the 
left,"  and  Marie  was  to  stand  behind  her 
sister  and  see  that  no  one  escaped  without 
the  instruction.  Later,  Marie  was  to  pass 
the  sugar,  and  Ada  the  spoons  and  olives. 

The  day  and  the  hour  came.  It  found  the 
grandmother  uncommonly  free  from  aches 
and  pains,  and  as  happy  as  the  children  in 
anticipation  of  the  event.  The  first  arrival 
was  the  only  man  whom  she  had  honored 
with  an  invitation  —  the  poet  of  the  occasion. 
He  had  come  early  to  give  the  girls  a  cutter 
ride ;  but  so  thoroughly  aroused  was  the  social 
instinct  in  these  embryo  women,  that  while  at 
any  other  time  they  would  have  been  delighted 
117 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


to  ride,  Ada  blushingly  declined,  saying  she 
must  stay  and  tend  door,  and  Marie  said, 
"Me,  too." 

Soon  the  other  guests  arrived,  singly  and 
in  pairs,  Ada  anticipating  their  coming  by 
shyly  peeping  out  of  the  door.  As  they 
entered  she  received  them  with  all  the  seri- 
ousness and  solemnity  of  an  English  maid. 
With  unconscious  grace  she  waved  them 
upstairs,  Marie  standing  behind  her  be- 
wildered and  speechless. 

The  fond  father  in  the  background  noted 
the  look  of  pleased  surprise  on  the  faces  of 
the  guests,  on  finding  themselves  coached  by 
two  such  bright-eyed,  rosy-cheeked  girls. 
The  older,  as  became  her  tawny  complexion, 
was  attired  in  a  red  dress  of  soft,  clinging 
wool;  the  younger  wore  a  white  dress 
starched  almost  painfully  stiff,  with  a  blue 
sash  about  her  waist  and  black  silk  stockings 
tightly  fitting  her  plump  legs.  They  coolly 
118 


GRANDMA'S   EIGHTIETH   BIRTHDAY 

took  the  compliments  showered  upon  them 
as  a  matter  of  course,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  My  present  business  is  to  look  and  behave 
my  prettiest ;  but  I  thank  you  for  mention- 
ing it."  May  they  both  preserve  to  the  last 
their  present  immunity  from  the  amiably  ad- 
ministered poison  of  flattery. 

Events  in  the  parlors  and  dining-room  fre- 
quently attracted  Marie;  but  Ada,  more 
conscientious,  would  have  remained  at  her 
post,  like  the  overworked  Roman  sentinel  at 
Pompeii,  though  the  house  had  become 
engulfed  in  a  cyclone  of  cinders. 

A  pleasurable  sight  met  the  visitors'  gaze 
as  they  descended  the  stairs.  In  the  east  end 
of  the  parlor  sat  the  grandmother  in  her 
wheel-chair,  serenity  embodied,  —  her  pale, 
thin,  wrinkled  face  beautified  by  a  smile 
which  told  the  story  of  her  heart's  content 
and  of  her  joy  in  the  presence  of  her  friends 
on  this  day  of  days  so  happily  crowning  her 
119 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


long  life.  The  excitement  of  the  occasion 
had  given  a  faint  suggestion  of  color  to  her 
cheeks,  a  sparkle  to  her  eyes,  and  a  quaintly 
humorous  glibness  to  her  tongue.  Her  wavy 
white  hair,  a  veritable  crown  of  glory,  was 
partially  covered  by  a  dainty  white  cap, — of 
the  kind  Queen  Victoria  affected, —  the  birth- 
day gift  of  her  daughter.  Her  wheel-chair 
raised  her  slightly  above  the  rest ;  and  as  she 
sat  receiving  the  congratulations  of  her 
friends,  her  modest  queenliness  was  the  sub- 
ject of  much  comment  (which  because  of 
deafness  she  could  not  hear),  —  the  queenli- 
ness which  womanhood  attains  when  age 
crowns  the  brow  and  its  lines  give  added 
dignity  to  the  countenance.  On  the  man- 
tel behind  her  chair  were  vases  of  white 
and  red  roses;  the  sitting-room  table  was 
transformed  into  a  bed  of  roses  —  red,  pink, 
and  white,  with  a  background  of  carnations, 
hyacinths,  and  potted  plants.  For  every 
120 


GRANDMA'S   EIGHTIETH   BIRTHDAY 

guest  the  venerable  hostess  had  a  pleasant 
word  of  thanks  and  good  cheer,  and  her 
quick-witted  responses  drew  forth  many  a 
hearty  laugh. 

After  an  hour  devoted  to  greetings  I  spoke 
a  few  words  of  welcome.  At  the  suggestion 
of  a  friend  I  briefly  outlined  my  mother's 
career,  her  care-free  girl  life,  her  early  be- 
reavement in  the  death  of  her  beloved  father, 
her  early  marriage,  her  trials  as  child-wife 
and  mother,  her  losses  and  afflictions,  her 
long  widowhood,  the  close  bond  of  union 
between  mother  and  son,  the  loving  care  the 
wife  had  given  her  during  these  last  years, 
and,  too,  the  coming  of  the  children  into  her 
heart  and  life,  lengthening  and  brightening 
her  days.  I  then  asked  a  dear  friend  to  read 
mother's  favorite  poem,  "  Crossing  the  Bar," 
for  I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  read  it.  As 
the  affecting  words  fell  on  our  ears  many  of 
us  wept. 

121 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


I  then  invited  the  poet  to  read  the  lines 
he  had  written  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 
The  thought  embodied  in  the  poem  is  so 
beautiful  and  fitting  that  I  will  close  this 
memory  by  giving  it  in  full : 

"Oh,  the  moon  so  old  shines  on,  shines  on, 

As  it  shone  in  the  years  gone  by  ; 
And  the  stars  are  as  bright  as  they  were  the  night 
They  were  set  in  the  azure  sky. 

"  The  violet  blossoms  are  just  as  blue, 

And  the  lilies  divinely  fair, 
And  the  rose  as  red,  though  the  year  be  dead, 
As  the  roses  of  Eden  were. 

«'  The  sound  of  the  music  it  never  dies, 

Though  the  strings  of  the  harp  be  still. 
Some  far-off  day,  in  its  own  sweet  way, 
Some  soul  with  the  sound  will  thrill. 

**  The  look,  the  smile,  of  a  tender  face, 

However  the  years  go  on, 
In  the  heart's  blue  sky  they  will  never  die, 
Nor  the  spell  of  their  love  be  gone. 

122 


GRANDMA'S    EIGHTIETH   BIRTHDAY 

"Wait  on,  dear  soul,  for  the  world  is  fair, 

And  the  sky  in  your  heart  is  blue, 
And  the  smiles  and  tears  of  the  other  years 
They  will  ever  come  back  to  you." 


123 


XVII 

IN   A   REMINISCENT  MOOD— OUR 
COURTSHIP   AND    MARRIAGE 

DECEMBER  4,  1882.  —Ten  years  ago 
to-day  my  Mary  and  I  were  married. 
I  was  happy  then,  but  I  am  happier  now. 
Then  I  only  hoped  for  the  best ;  now  my 
heart  emphatically  informs  me  that  "  the  best 
is  yet  to  be."  Ominous  shadows  were  cast 
upon  our  courtship,  but  nothing  so  unsubstan- 
tial as  shadows  could  have  deterred  us  from 
the  step  we  had  chosen  to  take.  As  we  had 
first  timidly  dared  to  hope,  and  later  had  con- 
fidently trusted,  the  clouds  we  so  much 
124 


OUR   COURTSHIP   AND    MARRIAGE 

dreaded  at  the  outset  rolled  away,  my  only 
present  fear  being  that  freedom  from  woes 
may  invite  some  new  disaster.  But  nothing 
can  rob  us  of  our  confidence  in  the  future  as 
between  ourselves ;  for  as  our  little  woes 
have  brought  us  closer  together  in  spirit,  so 
great  sorrows  or  losses,  if  they  come,  must 
make  us  more  completely  one.  Of  another 
thing  I  can  speak  with  equal  certainty. 
During  these  ten  years  there  has  never  been 
a  moment  when  my  heart  has  felt  a  single 
pang  of  regret ;  and  I  am  equally  sure  that 
Mary's  simpler,  more  transparent  nature 
would  have  revealed  by  word  or  look  any 
question  in  her  mind,  had  there  been  any,  as 
to  the  wisdom  of  her  heart's  promptings. 
And,  too,  I  have  it  from  her  own  lips  on  this 
day  of  days  that,  far  from  feeling  jealous  of 
my  past,  she  is  supremely  thankful  for  the  woes 
and  sorrows  which  brought  us  by  separate  and 
devious  ways  out  into  the  "goodly  land." 
125 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


Ten  years  ago !  I  cannot  say,  as  Mary 
does,  "  It  seems  but  yesterday."  Too  much 
of  heart  history  has  been  written  since  that 
day. 

It  was  a  quiet  home  wedding.  A  death 
in  Mary's  family  had  compelled  a  radical 
change  of  plan.  While  I  deplored  the  reason 
for  the  change  and  sympathized  with  Mary 
in  her  desire  to  live  up  to  the  traditions  of  the 
family  and  have  a  church  wedding,  yet  in- 
wardly, and  selfishly,  I  was  more  than  satis- 
fied that  only  the  two  families  and  our 
intimate  friends  were  to  be  present. 

I  cannot  remember  much  that  was  said 
and  done  on  the  evening  of  the  wedding,  but 
I  vividly  recall  our  meeting  after  the  day's 
separation. 

"  You    can    see    Mary     now,"    said    the 

mistress  of  ceremonies.     I  recall  the  flutter 

of  expectancy    with    which    I    ascended  the 

stairs  and  knocked  at  her  door.     In  response 

126 


OUR   COURTSHIP   AND   MARRIAGE 

to  the  word  "  Come,"  I  eagerly  entered,  and 
there  she  stood,  arrayed  in  white,  in  front  of 
the  long  mirror  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
her  hands  extended  toward  me,  her  counte- 
nance beaming. 

I  was  about  to  fold  her  in  my  arms,  when 
she  exclaimed,  "  Careful,  dear  ;  you  '11  crush 
my  lace."  Then  noting  my  disappointment, 
she  added,  "  But  there  's  no  reason  why  you 
should  n't  kiss  me  if  you  want  to." 

"  Want  to  !  "  I  exclaimed,  kissing  her 
again  and  again. 

Mary  would  hardly  have  been  called  a 
beautiful  bride,  and  yet  to  me  she  was 
"divinely  tall,  divinely  fair";  and,  as  my 
best  friend  later  remarked,  her  face,  at  other 
times  the  serenest  he  had  ever  seen,  was 
fairly  radiant  that  night.  And  this  despite 
the  lines  which  early  illness  and  later  cares 
had  written  upon  her  forehead.  Far  from 
quarrelling  with  these  lines,  I,  who  am  many 
127 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


years  her  senior,  feel  kindly  toward  them,  for 
they  and  all  for  which  they  stand  have  helped 
to  bridge  the  gulf  of  years  between  us. 

I  cannot  refrain  from  repeating  a  remark 
of  my  friend,  and  Mary's  former  pastor,  soon 
after  the  ceremony  that  made  us  one  to  the 
world,  as  for  months  we  had  been  to  each 
other.  Said  he  to  me,  "  You  look  as  though 
old  things  had  passed  away  and  all  things 
had  become  new." 

A  dear  old  lady  asked  me  what  had  become 
of  the  solemn  face  I  'd  been  carrying  about 
with  me  for  so  many  years.  Another  stimu- 
lated my  vanity  by  telling  me  I  looked  ten 
years  younger  than  when  she  last  saw  me.  I 
will  confess  to  an  extreme  sensitiveness,  at 
the  time,  on  this  subject  of  age.  To  show 
the  intensity  of  this  feeling,  I  've  hunted  up  in 
our  public  library  a  bit  of  my  verse,  sentimen- 
tally presented  to  Mary  ten  years  ago  to-day, 
and  afterwards  published  over  other  initials 
128 


OUR   COURTSHIP   AND   MARRIAGE 

than  mine  in  one  of  our  minor  magazines. 
The  lines  read  thus: 

"I  long  had  thought  my  race  was  nearly  run  ! 

But  no,  that  is  not  so  ! 

My  life  began  when  I  thy  fond  heart  won  — 
Less  than  a  year  ago  ! 

"  They  tell  me,  Mary,  I  am  growing  old  ! 

Ah  no,  that  cannot  be  ! 
Though  hair  grow  gray,  the  heart  can  ne'er  grow 

cold 
Companioning  with  thee  !  " 

I  'm  surer  of  the  truth  than  I  am  of  the 
poetry  of  these  lines,  but  they  will  serve  my 
present  purpose  fairly  well,  illustrating  the 
frame  of  mind  in  which  I  went  to  my  fate. 

But  how  did  it  come  about  —  this  wedding 
of  which  I  have  been  writing  ?  Here  was  a 
lone  man  of  forty-seven  who  had  had  his  day 
in  court  and  been  somewhat  worsted,  and 
yet  was  apparently  free  from  ambition  to 
9  129 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


move  for  a  new  trial ;  there  in  her  home 
almost  across  the  way  from  my  suite  of  rooms 
was  a  woman  who  long  had  passed  her  thir- 
tieth birthday,  and  yet,  to  all  appearances,  was 
fancy-free,  though  rumor  had  persistently 
gabbled  about  an  old  engagement,  which  had 
preserved  her  from  ardent  wooers  during  the 
susceptible  years. 

This  man  —  that  is,  myself — and  this 
woman  —  Mary  —  had  often  met,  and  as  it 
afterwards  turned  out,  had  dreamed  each  of 
the  other;  but  in  waking  hours  neither  one 
had  given  the  other  a  serious  thought.  To 
the  young  woman  the  middle-aged  man  had 
been  a  sort  of  hero,  — a  hero  with  weak  spots 
in  his  armor,  —  at  best  unattainable,  and  at 
worst  undesirable.  To  the  middle-aged  man 
the  maiden  of  thirty  seemed  reserved  for 
some  better  fate  than  he  could  offer,  and  yet 
she  strangely  held  possession  of  his  thoughts. 
Her  smile  as  she  looked  up  from  her  flower- 
130 


OUR    COURTSHIP   AND    MARRIAGE 

bed  or  her  book,  her  voice  as  she  sang  to 
him  from  the  church  choir  on  Sundays,  or  as 
her  laugh  rang  in  his  ears  on  his  way  past  her 
home,  —  these  were  among  his  pleasantest 
memories.  And  yet  it  had  never  occurred 
to  her  that  she  could  be  anything  to  him,  nor 
to  him  that  he  could  ever  win  her  from  her 
maiden  meditation. 

It  seemed  to  be  one  of  those  gentle  decrees 
of  Fate  which  keep  the  world  loyal  to  the 
fickle  dame  —  despite  the  apparent  fact  that 
the  law  of  averages  proves  her  more  cruel 
than  kind — that  we  two  should,  each  un- 
known to  the  other,  join  an  excursion  party 
which  was  to  spend  nearly  a  month  travelling 
in  the  far  West.  When  the  two  met  at  the 
rendezvous  in  a  great  hotel  in  a  western  me- 
tropolis there  was  only  a  faint  stirring  of  the 
masculine  heart,  the  super-conscious  thought 
being,  "  Now  I  know  I  shall  have  a  good 
time." 


AN  OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


Relatives  and  mutual  friends  on  the  trip 
made  the  way  to  intimacy  delightfully  easy. 
We  came  together  first  through  human  — 
very  human  —  sympathy,  hunger  having  over- 
taken us.  Three  times  a  day  thereafter  we 
came  together  eating  and  drinking.  Together 
we  climbed  mountains  and  descended  into 
mines.  We  read  from  the  same  book  at  the 
same  time  —  a  dangerous  practice.  We  read 
aloud  to  each  other,  a  scarcely  less  danger- 
ous practice.  We  sat  together  in  the  same 
sleeping-car  section  for  hours  at  a  time.  We 
varied  the  delightful  monotony  of  the  journey 
by  sitting  together  on  the  platform  steps. 

Our  first  real  awakening  was  in  Colorado. 
We  had  planned  a  drive  through  the  Garden 
of  the  Gods,  and  somehow  I  missed  my  op- 
portunity to  obtain  a  seat  in  the  carriage  beside 
her.  Her  regretful  smile  told  me  her  story, 
and  my  drawn  face  revealed  to  her  my  disap- 
pointment. I  was  about  to  say  or  do  some- 
132 


OUR   COURTSHIP  AND   MARRIAGE 

thing  silly  when  I  caught  the  restraining  eye 
which  said  to  me,  as  if  in  so  many  words, 
"  I  'm  as  sorry  as  you  are,  but  we  have  no 
mutual  rights  which  others  are  bound  to 
respect." 

I  went  away  sorrowing,  joining  another 
party  to  which  I  vainly  tried  to  make  myself 
agreeable. 

By  a  happy  circumstance,  which  I  felt  sure 
was  Fate,  we  met  again  near  the  entrance 
to  the  Garden  of  the  Gods,  and  a  gentleman 
of  her  party  asked  me  if  I  would  exchange 
seats  with  him.  Would  I  ?  I  looked  into 
his  eyes,  thinking  he  might  have  guessed  my 
heart's  desire ;  but  they  gave  no  hint  of  in- 
direction. I  eagerly  accommodated  him. 

Ah,  that  ride!  It  was  through  a  veritable 
garden  of  the  gods.  To  me  it  was  also  a 
glorious  garden  of  sleep,  for  a  new  and  de- 
lightful dream  had  taken  possession  of  my 
bewildered  brain.  While  others  with  curious 
'33 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


interest  commented  on  the  strange  likenesses 
to  animals  which  the  red  rocks  presented,  I 
was  watching  the  varying  expression  on  the 
face  opposite  me  and  wondering  what  it  all 
meant  to  me. 

This  is  in  no  sense  a  diary.  I  therefore 
omit  the  details  of  the  long  ride  by  rail  over 
gray-white  sands ;  through  stunted  forests 
where  trees  grow  from  crevices  in  rocks  and 
from  between  great  boulders;  past  Indian  vil- 
lages where  human  beings  swarm  like  ants  but 
lack  the  ant's  intelligent  purpose  and  mind- 
directed  industry ;  past  homes,  and  whole 
cities,  pink  and  red  with  roses ;  past  miles  of 
irrigated  small-fruit  ranches  and  other  miles 
of  land  where  the  orange  blossoms  bloom. 

My  recollections  of  San  Diego  are  grouped 
about  one  supreme  moment  —  or  was  it  a 
half-hour  ?  We  stood  on  the  bay  ward  side 
of  Coronado  Beach.  The  crescent  moon, 
all  too  rapidly  descending,  had  made  for 


OUR   COURTSHIP  AND   MARRIAGE 

itself  a  glorious  pathway  of  gold  across  the 
rough  waters  of  the  bay.  Faint  notes  of 
music  reached  our  ears  from  a  small  steamer 
far  out  on  the  bay;  and  nearer,  at  irregular 
intervals,  the  thunderous  boom  of  the  surf 
against  the  rocks,  followed  by  the  angry 
swish  of  the  defeated  and  retreating  waves, 
gave  to  the  scene  of  beauty  a  solemn  grandeur, 
awing  us  to  silence.  Tears  came  to  my  eyes, 
illogical  tears,  the  meaning  of  which  I  could 
not  even  guess.  I  turned  my  head  far  enough 
to  see  that  Mary,  too,  was  deeply  moved. 
Her  arm,  firmly  held  in  mine,  began  to 
tremble.  I  pressed  it  still  more  tightly,  and 
we  resumed  our  walk.  No  word  had  been 
spoken,  and  yet  our  hearts  had  held  solemn 
converse. 

Later  we  found  ourselves  seated  in  a  ball- 
room  watching  the   dancers;  but   a   strange 
silence  had  come  upon  us.      It  was,  as  I  now 
clearly   see,    the    silence    following    the    full 
135 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


awakening  of  two  hearts  to  the  call  of 
destiny. 

At  Monterey  there  was  another  moment 
worth  recalling.  Seated  in  the  midst  of  one 
of  nature's  most  gorgeous  flower-gardens, 
under  the  far-spreading  branches  of  a  giant 
live-oak,  we  vainly  tried  to  hide  our  hearts 
behind  feeble  questions  and  answers  as  to 
the  names  and  habits  of  flowers  and  trees 
and  birds.  Nothing  but  the  shortness  of 
the  time  since  the  beginning  of  our  intimacy 
deterred  me  from  then  and  there  pouring  into 
her  ear  the  story  she  waited  to  hear,  yet 
dared  not  anticipate. 

Our  party  occupied  adjoining  rooms  in  the 
great  hotel  at  San  Francisco.  By  another 
of  those  seeming  accidents  which  govern  our 
lives,  we  two  met  in  one  of  the  corridors 
late  one  night,  each  waiting  for  the  other 
members  of  the  party  to  return  from  the 
theatre.  While  we  sat  looking  over  the  rail- 
136 


OUR   COURTSHIP   AND   MARRIAGE 

ing  into  the  court  below,  recounting  the  ex- 
periences of  the  day,  a  bell-boy  interrupted 
us  with  the  embarrassing  inquiry,  "Are  you 
the  gentleman  and  lady  in  347  ?  "  That  was 
the  room  in  front  of  which  we  chanced  to  be 
seated.  I  greatly  admired  the  womanly  dig- 
nity with  which  Mary  turned  on  the  boy  and 
answered,  "  No  "  j  nor  did  I  fail  to  observe 
the  faint  blush  on  her  face  as  we  resumed 
our  broken  conversation. 

At  Sacramento  our  party  visited  the  capitol, 
where  all  went  well  with  us  until  a  gentle- 
man who  piloted  us  about  the  building 
stopped  to  relate  to  Mary  and  a  few  others 
the  history  of  some  portrait  on  the  wall. 
Seeing  me  standing  near,  he  turned  to  Mary 
and  said,  "  Perhaps  your  husband  would  be 
interested,"  pointing  to  me.  This  was  too 
much.  Her  self-possession  deserted  her. 
Blushing  and  hysterically  laughing,  she  stam- 
mered, "  He  is  not  my  husband." 
137 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


The  stranger's  apology  was  spoiled  by  his 
too  knowing  smile,  and  matters  were  not 
helped  by  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  called  to 
me  and  explained  the  unintentional  joke  at 
our  expense. 

At  Nevada  City,  California,  we  took  seats 
in  the  narrow  chute  that  took  us  down  many 
hundred  feet  into  a  gold  mine.  I  have  a 
faint  recollection  that  the  air  was  hot  and  the 
walls  and  floors  were  dripping,  and  that  we 
were  glad  to  return  to  the  upper  world ;  but 
I  distinctly  recall  the  thrill  of  delight  with 
which  I  felt  Mary's  hands  grasp  my  arms  as 
we  dropped  down  into  that  seemingly  bot- 
tomless pit.  For  the  moment  the  plain, 
wnpicturesque  man  of  affairs  felt  himself  a 
knight  of  high  degree,  and,  like  the  knight  of 
old  romance,  enjoyed  himself  immensely. 

I   recall  the  sandy   beach   near  Salt  Lake 
City  as  the  scene  of  the  only  attack  of  jeal- 
ousy ever  caused  by  my  Mary's  conduct.     I 
138 


OUR   COURTSHIP  AND   MARRIAGE 

had  counted  on  the  afternoon  with  her,  and 
when  I  found  her  seated  in  the  carriage  on 
the  way  to  the  beach  with  a  gentleman  she 
had  known  in  the  East,  and  when  she  passed 
me  in  her  bathing  suit  and  gave  one  hand  to 
a  relative  and  the  other  to  this  friend,  I  be- 
came supremely  wretched.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments spent  in  the  water  I  dressed  myself 
and  took  a  seat  on  the  wharf,  vainly  striving 
the  while  to  divert  my  mind  from  this  new 
cause  of  woe. 

Thereafter  I  was  continually  made  con- 
scious of  an  omnipresent  uncle,  tardily  aroused 
to  the  duty  and  necessity  of  asserting  himself 
and  protecting  his  charge. 

The  condition  became  unbearable.  I  de- 
termined to  know  the  worst.  Resuming  our 
eastward  journey,  I  watched  my  opportunity. 
The  conscientious  relative  lay  snoring  in  his 
stateroom.  Mary  and  a  friend  sat  on  the 
platform  watching  the  majestic  scenery  of  the 
139 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


Sierras  and  chatting  gayly,  as  though  scenery 
were  little  or  nothing  to  them.  They  invited 
me  to  sit,  and  made  a  place  for  me  at  their 
feet.  Soon  the  friend  found  it  convenient 
to  go  into  the  car,  promising  to  return  in  a 
moment.  The  moment  lengthened  into 
hours. 

Whether  it  was  the  altitude  or  some  in- 
junction put  upon  her  by  her  uncle  I  know 
not}  but  I  found  Mary  strangely  nervous, 
sensitively  alert,  timidly  evasive,  and,  now 
that  she  was  alone  with  me,  abnormally 
observant  of  every  detail  of  the  scenery. 
Concluding  that  nothing  could  be  gained  by 
siege,  I  nerved  myself  for  an  assault,  and 
when  a  sharp  turn  threw  her  slightly  forward 
I  caught  her  hand  in  mine  and  uttered  the 
words  : 

"  Mary,  do  you  think  you  could  ever  love 
me  well  enough  to  become  my  wife  ?  " 

Our  eyes  met.  She  gave  me  a  startled 
140 


OUR   COURTSHIP   AND   MARRIAGE 

look,  such  as  the  deer  gives  when  the  wind 
brings  suggestion  of  danger,  and,  her  voice 
trembling  with  suppressed  emotion,  said  : 

"  Can  it  be  you  really  want  me  —  me  — to 
become  your  wife  ?  " 

I  assured  her  that  that  was  my  heart's 
desire.  Her  hand-grasp  tightened,  'and  in 
low  voice,  close  to  my  ear,  she  gave  me  the 
coveted  answer  : 

"  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  say  more  now 
than  that  I  do  not  guess  —  I  know  I  love 
you  —  love  you  now  —  have  loved  you  ever 
since  we  looked  out  on  the  bay  that  moonlight 
night  on  Coronado  Beach." 

And  so  we  were  wedded  — heart  to  heart, 
for  all  time,  and,  as  we  trust,  for  eternity  too. 
Most  men  are  able  to  name  the  time  and 
place  when  and  where  the  fateful  words  were 
spoken.  Most  wives  take  a  sentimental  in- 
terest in  the  locality  —  the  identical  spot  where 
141 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


"  he  proposed."  But  Mary  and  I  are  denied 
that  satisfaction.  We  can  only  tell  our  friends 
that  at  some  time  in  the  afternoon  of  a  cer- 
tain May  day  in  that  year  of  grace,  1872, 
somewhere  on  the  heights  between  Ogden 
and  Denver,  our  perturbed  spirits  found 
repose. 

We  mean  to  make  the  trip  again  some  day 
and  point  out  to  our  daughters,  as  nearly  as 
we  can,  the  spot  where  the  words  were  said 
that  meant  so  much  to  us. 


142 


XVIII 

HOW    WE   SPENT   ONE   CHRISTMAS 

DECEMBER  26,  1882.  — I  cannot  let 
another  Christmastime  pass  into  un- 
certain memory  without  including  in  my 
record  an  outline  picture  of  what  the  day  has 
come  to  mean  to  our  little  ones  —  and  their 
elders  too. 

As  inevitable  as  the  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil,  comes  to  children  the  truth  about  Santa 
Claus.  It  had  come  to  our  Ada.  One  of 
her  playmates  recently  informed  her  that 
there  was  "  no  really  and  truly  Santa  Claus," 
and  that  her  father  and  mother  were  the 
»43 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


actual  gift-bringers-in-chief.  While  the  rev- 
elation disturbed  her  at  first,  her  imagination 
soon  surrounded  the  fact,  enveloping  both  it 
and  the  myth  with  a  comfortable  mantle  of 
compromise ;  and  now  she  talks  with  Marie 
about  Santa  Claus  with  a  knowing  twinkle 
in  her  eye,  which  says  :  "  You  are  not  yet 
old  enough  to  comprehend  the  mystery ; 
when  you  are  you  shall  know  all ;  meantime 
I  shall  continue  to  speak  of  Santa  Claus  as  a 
real  personage." 

For  several  days  the  delivery  wagon  had 
been  leaving  packages  at  our  door.  These 
were  handled  and  examined  by  Marie  with 
almost  painful  curiosity ;  by  Ada  with  a 
complacent  sense  of  possession  and  an  abnor- 
mal willingness  to  bide  her  time.  This  differ- 
ence is  one  of  temperament,  not  of  age. 
From  her  first  conception  of  Christmas  it  was 
so  with  Ada,  and  every  succeeding  holiday 
season  strengthens  the  child's  insistence  that 
144 


HOW   WE   SPENT    ONE    CHRISTMAS 

no  packages  shall  be  opened  until  Christmas 
eve,  and  none  shall  be  exhibited  until  Christ- 
mas morning. 

Late  Christmas  eve  the  children  went  to 
bed  with  eager  anticipation  of  the  morrow  — 
Ada  gladly ;  Marie  reluctantly,  almost  tear- 
fully. 

Then  came  the  gathering  of  boxes  which 
had  been  concealed  in  closets  and  drawers, 
and  of  little  parcels  from  the  top  of  the  up- 
right piano  and  the  upper  shelves  of  the 
several  book-cases.  We  three  older  children 
evinced  not  a  little  curiosity ;  but  the  most 
eager  of  the  three  was  the  grandmother,  dull 
of  sight  and  hearing  and  infirm  of  limb,  but 
—  aside  from  a  delightful  suggestion  of  child- 
ishness as  to  present-making  and  present- 
receiving,  and  a  grandmotherly  tendency  to 
excuse  the  children  and  resent  our  feeble  at- 
tempts at  disciplining  them  —  as  clear  of  mind 
as  ever;  and,  too,  possessed  of  a  keen  sense 
10  H5 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


of  humor  and  a  rich  fund  of  old-fashioned 
common  sense,  on  which  the  rest  of  us,  with 
all  our  uncommon  sense,  are  wont  to  draw. 
Usually  asleep  by  ten  o'clock,  she  was  wide- 
awake now.  She  must  see  and  handle  every 
present,  and  read  and  comment  on  every  ac- 
companying card  or  note.  Had  there  been 
time,  she  would  have  insisted  on  opening 
every  package  with  her  own  hands.  Every 
gift  evoked  from  the  wife  and  the  mother 
its  appropriate  exclamation,  such  as  "Just 
like  her  ! "  "  The  dear  woman  !  "  «  Think 
of  it!  every  stitch  taken  by  her  own  dear 
hands!"  "And  to  think  she  should  have 
remembered  our  children,  with  all  her  own 
little  ones  to  do  for ! "  "  Just  what  I 
wanted  !  "  "  How  these  will  delight  the 
children  ! "  etc. 

It  was  my  task  to  open  the  larger  boxes, 
clear  away  the  rubbish,  set  up  the  tree  in  the 
front  room  —  we  have  no  parlor  set  apart  as 
146 


HOW   WE   SPENT   ONE    CHRISTMAS 

such,  for  all  our  rooms  are  literally  parlors. 
It  remained  for  the  wife  to  trim  the  tree  with 
chains  of  cranberries  and  popcorn  strung  by 
the  children,  and  with  dazzling  gewgaws 
suggesting  gems  of  prodigious  size  and 
sparkle.  The  presents  were  then  labelled 
and  hung,  the  heavier  and  more  bulky  ones 
piled  around  the  tree  on  the  floor.  After  a 
free  interchange  of  opinion  as  to  the  general 
effect,  the  adult  members  of  the  family  self- 
satisfiedly  retired  for  the  night. 

Soon  after  five  on  Christmas  morning  we 
were  simultaneously  aroused  by  a  shrill  whis- 
per from  the  larger  of  the  trundle-beds. 
"  Good  morning,  mamma !  Good  morning, 
papa  !  Wish  you  Merry  Christmas !  I  've 
been  waiting  ever  so  long  for  you  to  wake  up." 

The  whispered  salutation  and  the  responses 
in  undertone  awakened  Marie ;  and,  less  con- 
scientious and  calculating  than  her  sister, 
before  her  eyes  were  fairly  opened  she 
H7 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


shouted,  "  Mawnin',  mamma !  Mawnin', 
papa  !  Wut  uh  muhwy  Kuppa  !  " 

There  was  an  unwontedly  early  appearance 
of  the  entire  family,  the  grandmother  included, 
in  the  big  living-room  below  stairs. 

The  first  objects  of  interest  were  the  black 
stockings  hanging  from  above  the  fireplace. 
Out  of  Ada's  projected  a  wine-colored  silk 
umbrella  —  so  far  that  it  had  almost  fallen 
out.  This  so  nearly  filled  the  child's  eye 
and  heart  that  scant  attention  was  paid  to 
the  minor  presents.  A  doll's  parasol,  bright 
red,  made  Marie's  happiness  so  nearly 
complete  that,  like  her  sister,  she  gave  the 
remaining  contents  of  her  stocking  scarcely 
more  than  a  passing  glance.  I  wonder  if  all 
children  are  so  constituted  ?  I  am  sure  my 
childish  likings  were  never  so  exclusive. 
And  yet  I  remember  my  ecstasy  over  the  first 
sled  I  could  call  my  own. 

But  these  presents  were  only  an  appetizer 
148 


HOW   WE   SPENT   ONE   CHRISTMAS 

for  the  feast  which  was  to  follow.  After  a 
light  breakfast  —  the  children  were  too  ex- 
cited to  eat  much  —  mamma  entered  the 
mysteriously  closed  and  darkened  front  room, 
followed  by  papa,  who  hastily  shut  the 
sliding  doors  behind  him.  One  lighted  the 
candles  on  the  tree  while  the  other  tacked 
blankets  over  the  windows  to  further  darken 
the  room.  Mamma  lingered  long,  rearrang- 
ing the  presents  on  and  about  the  tree.  Papa, 
having  heard  suspicious  whisperings,  followed 
by  loud  thumps  on  the  door,  appeared  on  the 
scene  to  preserve  order.  Ada  stood  patiently 
waiting  for  the  doors  to  be  thrown  open,  her 
eyes  dancing  with  eager  anticipation.  Marie 
had  made  several  attempts  to  push  open  the 
sliding  doors,  but  Ada  had  restrained  her. 
She  then  tried  to  peek  between  the  cracks, 
her  more  conscientious  sister  chiding  her  with 
such  epithets  as  "  naughty  Marie,"  to  all  of 
which  the  offender  was  painfully  indifferent. 
149 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


Finally  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and 
with  shouts  of  delight  the  children  rushed  in, 
quickly  followed  by  the  fond  father  and  the 
grandmother  in  her  wheel-chair,  the  maid 
from  the  kitchen  bringing  up  the  rear.  It 
happened  to  be  a  disappointingly  small  tree 
—  so  small  I  had  to  stand  it  up  on  a  rug- 
covered  soap-box  to  give  it  passable  dignity ; 
but  to  the  little  ones  it  was  big  enough,  or,  as 
Marie  put  it,  "  dut  wight"  (just  right).  The 
first  fierce  exclamations  of  delight  were  fol- 
lowed by  a  calm  of  perfect  bliss,  as  one  after 
another  in  quick  succession  the  presents 
were  passed  to  their  respective  owners  and 
by  them  examined. 

Ada's  one  disappointment  was  that  there 
was  a  doll  for  Marie  but  none  for  her.  Now 
Ada  is  preeminently  a  doll-girl  —  feminine 
through  and  through,  with  maternal  instincts 
remarkably  well  developed  —  abnormally  de- 
veloped, Marie  thinks.  She  seems  most  of 
150 


HOW   WE    SPENT   ONE   CHRISTMAS 

the  time  to  be  living  solely  for  her  Laura. 
She  offers  up  hours  of  her  day  a  willing  — 
yes,  glad  —  sacrifice  to  her  Laura's  comfort 
and  education.  She  has  her  dolly  wash-days, 
ironing  days,  mending  days,  and  reception 
days.  From  morning  till  night,  when  she  is 
confined  indoors,  she  is  dressing  and  un- 
dressing her  dolls,  or  giving  them  carnage 
rides  or  street-car  rides,  or  holding  tea-parties 
or  receptions  for  their  pleasure.  That  the 
word  Duty  is  given  a  prominent  place  in  Ada's 
vocabulary  is  evident  from  the  conscientious 
attention  she  pays  to  her  first  doll,  the  now  aged 
and  frayed  Pauline  — a  big,  dirty-gray  rag-doll, 
the  right  hemisphere  of  whose  massive,  rickety 
brain  protrudes  upward  much  farther  than  the 
left.  All  that  seems  to  remain  of  Ada's  regard 
for  Pauline  is  compassion,  mixed  with  a  sense 
of  responsibility.  But  toward  Laura,  the  latest 
addition  to  her  family,  goes  forth  nearly  all 
the  devotion  she  can  spare  from  her  mother. 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


But  I  have  wandered  from  my  story.  And 
here  let  me  say  that  the  friends  who  may 
chance  to  read  this  simple  tale  of  home  life 
and  children's  ways  will,  I  am  sure,  attribute 
the  vagaries  of  the  writer  as  revealed  in  these 
pages  to  the  natural  garrulity  of  advancing 
years  and  a  pardonable  egotism  which  as- 
sumes that  the  happiness  of  one's  own  home, 
—  his  little  world,  —  and  the  traits  and  doings 
of  the  dear  ones  who  make  up  that  world, 
must  surely  interest  everybody  else.  I  have 
somehow  come  to  regard  the  world  as  divided 
into  two  classes,  —  namely,  those  who  have 
and  those  who  have  not  the  child-life  in  their 
homes.  Of  the  small  number  who  may  read 
these  fragmentary  memoirs,  possibly  none 
will  read  them  with  more  of  interest  than  cer- 
tain friends  I  have  in  mind,  whose  parent 
hearts  have  of  necessity  been  warmed  at  other 
hearth-fires  than  their  own. 

There  came  forth  from  one  package  a 
152 


HOW   WE   SPENT   ONE   CHRISTMAS 

beautiful  quarto  volume  of  stories  in  prose 
and  verse,  illustrated  with  full-page  pictures 
in  colors,  the  reading-matter  framed  in  deli- 
cately traced  borders  and  these  broken  on 
every  page  with  fine  pen-drawings  by  some 
deft  hand  moved  to  its  task  by  a  genuine 
child-heart  and  directed  by  an  eye  'that  had 
caught  the  grace  of  childhood.  These  dainty 
drawings  in  black  and  white  attracted  the 
children  more  than  the  pictures  in  colors, 
and  held  them  longer.  I  wonder  if  this  is 
not  unusual  ? 

Every  evening  for  weeks  to  come,  while  I 
am  at  ease  and  glancing  over  the  newspapers 
of  the  day,  my  Marie  will  lug  the  new  book 
from  its  place,  and  planting  it  on  my  lap, 
herself  on  the  hassock  at  my  feet,  will  issue 
her  mandate  —  always  with  the  same  form, 
or  formlessness,  of  words  :  "  Papa  no  wead 
de  papah  mo ;  papa  wead  Mawie  towy ! " 
And  I,  thoroughly  domesticated  animal  that  I 
'S3 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


am,  will  dutifully  lay  my  paper  down  and 
give  myself  up  to  the  delightful  duty  of  inter- 
preting this  book,  written  for  eight-year-olds, 
fitting  the  stories  to  the  small  vocabulary  and 
smaller  mental  calibre  of  my  four-year-old. 
And  her  sister  will  lay  aside  her  dolls  and 
stand  looking  over  my  arm,  and  with  patron- 
izing air  will  watch  the  effect  of  the  story  as 
it  finds  lodgment  in  Marie's  mind.  Now 
and  then  Ada  will  mildly  interrupt  the  reader 
to  inform  him  that  Marie  does  n't  get  the  full 
meaning  of  some  word  he  has  used. 

Again  I  digress  !  A  pasteboard  box  de- 
posited in  Ada's  lap  contains  an  ideal  village, 
and  with  her  building  material  spread  out 
before  her  on  the  floor,  the  child  is  taking 
her  first  lesson  in  landscape  architecture.  In 
a  few  minutes  we  are  invited  to  behold  a 
miracle :  a  beautiful  village,  with  the  regula- 
tion church,  school-house,  hotel,  general  store 
and  post-office,  court-house  and  jail,  a  public 
'54 


HOW   WE   SPENT   ONE   CHRISTMAS 

park  and  a  moderate  assortment  of  trees  ;  the 
ground  plan  a  copy  of  the  regulation  western 
cross-roads  u  city  "  —  minus  the  saloon. 
Marie  tries  to  duplicate  her  sister's  success, 
and  of  course  fails,  after  seriously  straining 
the  mortices  in  the  rough  attempt  at  joinery. 

More  to  Marie's  taste  is  a  stuffed  white 
bear.  Soon  she  has  the  animal  astride  our 
Maltese  kitten,  its  forelegs  holding  it  in  place, 
the  kitten  tamely  submitting  to  the  indignity, 
with  a  tired  look  which  says,  "  Anything  to 
amuse." 

But  I  must  not  continue  the  story  of  gifts 
received.  They  came  from  east,  west, 
north,  and  south,  with  no  end  of  love,  and 
most  of  them  with  delightful  disregard  of 
actual  utility  and  adaptability. 

Scarcely  had  the  first  interest  in  the  pres- 
ents subsided  when  a  ring  at  the  door-bell 
announced  the  coming  of  our  one  guest. 

Hers  was  a   gracious    presence,    bringing 

'55 


AN  OLD   MAN'S  IDYL 


with  it  a  benediction  on  our  home.  Her 
bright  eyes  and  fresh  young  face  belied  the 
suggestion  of  age  conveyed  by  her  silvery 
hair.  Her  coming  had  been  preceded  by  a 
box  of  pink  and  white  roses,  their  delicate 
fragrance  filling  the  whole  house  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  summer.  Not  content  with  this 
mark  of  regard,  the  lady  with  the  crown  of 
glory  on  her  head  comes  laden  with  packages 
for  the  little  ones.  Soon  I  find  myself  on 
my  knees  before  a  "  Robber  Kitten,"  whose 
scattered  anatomy  I  am  expected  to  put  to- 
gether that  Marie  may  see  how  it  is  done. 
Next  I  am  teaching  Ada  the  twist  of  the 
wrist  by  which  the  rings  are  thrown  over  the 
pins  in  the  game  of  ring-toss. 

At  the  height  of  our  enjoyment  a  sad 
accident  happened.  Ada  was  standing  in 
her  little  rocking-chair,  trying  to  reach  a 
present  on  the  mantel,  when  the  chair  began 
to  wobble.  The  child  lost  her  balance  and 
156 


HOW   WE    SPENT    ONE    CHRISTMAS 

instinctively  clutched  her  grandmother,  who 
was  standing  near.  The  dear  old  lady,  just 
recovering  from  a  cruel  fall,  and  scarcely  able 
to  stand  alone,  lost  her  uncertain  balance, 
tottered,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  floor,  her 
lame  hip  striking  first.  Losing  consciousness, 
she  was  borne  to  a  couch.  Her  mind  soon 
resumed  its  wonted  action.  She  begged  us 
not  to  let  her  accident  mar  our  pleasure,  but 
her  pale  face  with  its  strained  look,  and  her 
half-repressed  groans  made  a  resumption  of 
gayety  impossible.  The  vacant  place  at  the 
dinner  table,  the  disappointment  of  the  chil- 
dren over  grandma's  inability  to  keep  her  word 
and  dance  with  them  round  the  "  kippa  tee  " 
(Christmas  tree),  grandma's  oft-expressed 
sorrow  over  the  gloom  her  mishap  had  cast 
upon  the  festivities,  coupled  with  the  actual 
pain  she  bore,  together  toned  down  the  high 
spirits  with  which  we  all  had  entered  upon 
the  day. 

157 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


When  evening  came,  the  grandmother, 
with  firm  insistence,  made  us  carry  out  the 
rest  of  our  plan  for  the  day  ;  and  so,  after 
the  pleasure-worn  children  had  been  tucked 
into  bed,  we  two  went  to  the  theatre.  Now 
an  evening  at  the  play  is  an  event  with  us. 
Time  was  when  the  theatre,  next  to  the 
library,  was  my  chief  refuge  from  myself. 
Many  a  time  have  I  turned  from  business 
and  politics  and  the  discussion  of  public  ques- 
tions to  some  play  or  opera,  that  I  might  rob 
Sorrow  of  the  evening  hour  she  claimed  with 
me ;  and  often  in  the  midst  of  the  general  ap- 
plause her  quietly  insistent  voice  would  reach 
my  ears  above  the  tumult,  claiming  her  hour. 

This  evening  we  were  treated  to  a  sump- 
tuous presentation  of  "  Midsummer-Night's 
Dream  "  —  a  fantasy  that  wholly  fitted  our 
mood.  Then,  too,  the  humor  of  the  play 
appealed  to  all  that  was  left  of  the  boy  in  me. 
Like  Puck, 

158 


HOW   WE   SPENT   ONE   CHRISTMAS 

"  Those  things  do  best  please  me 
That  befall  preposterously." 

As  we  sat  laughing  at  the  absurdities  of  the 
clowns,  or  breathlessly  following  the  rapid 
movement  of  the  scenes,  smiling  pityingly  at 
the  sad  plight  of  the  infatuated  lovers,  and 
childishly  rejoicing  over  the  happy  outcome, 
—  the  breaking  of  the  spell  which  had 
bound  the  lovers  for  a  time  to  hard  condi- 
tions,—  an  undercurrent  of  memory  carried 
my  mind  back  to  a  fantasy  which  once  ruled 
my  mind  and  dominated  my  every  act. 

When  at  last  the  curtain  was  rung  down, 
the  "  palpably  gross  play  "  having  thoroughly 
"  beguiled  the  heavy  gait  of  night,"  I  woke 
with  a  start  from  my  bewildering  dream,  re- 
joicing with  a  full  heart  in  the  flesh-and- 
blood  reality  that  clung  to  my  arm  as  we 
crowded  our  way  out  of  the  playhouse  and 
into  the  outside  world. 


'59 


XIX 

AGAIN   REMINISCENT  — OUR 
HONEYMOON   ABROAD 

DECEMBER  5,  1883.  —  i.oo  A.M. 
Our  wedding  anniversary  dinner  last 
evening  having  put  far  from  me  for  the  time 
the  gift  of  sleep,  I  will  endeavor  to  utilize 
my  wakefulness  by  taking  up  the  story  of 
eleven  years  ago,  and  carrying  it  on  into  that 
other  world  of  romance  half  satirically  termed 
"  the  honeymoon."  Ours  was  no  traditional 
thirty-days  honeymoon,  "  applyed,"  as  Blount 
quaintly  says,  "  to  those  marryed  persons  who 
love  well  at  first  and  decline  in  affection 
\6o 


OUR    HONEYMOON   ABROAD 

afterwards."  As  a  matter  of  record  ours 
lasted  nearly  a  year,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact 
it  is  n't  over  yet. 

We  lingered  longest  in  the  Rhine  country, 
—  that  land  of  enchantment,  where  nothing 
is  commonplace,  no  human  being  devoid  of 
human  interest ;  and,  though  many  moons 
have  waxed  and  waned  since  then,  the  de- 
lightfully mysterious  spell  of  German  moon- 
shine is  upon  us  still,  as  our  friends  who  read 
these  lines  may  have  surmised. 

My  Wanderjahr,  like  my  happiness,  came 
late ;  but  I  am  sure  the  young  man  in  the 
twenties  who  long  ago  responded  to  my  name 
in  college  chapel  could  not  in  the  same  length 
of  time  have  witnessed  and  enjoyed  as  much 
of  Old-World  scenery  and  life  as  came  within 
the  range  of  my  delighted  vision  on  this  long- 
deferred  pilgrimage  through  the  Fatherland  — 
with  Mary  as  my  guide. 

Through  my  Mary's  wondering,  all  includ- 
ii  161 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


ing  eyes,  I  literally  saw  double.  With  her 
infectious  enthusiasm  my  enjoyment  was  in- 
creased many  fold.  Despite  the  inevitable 
annoyances  and  discomforts  of  Old-World 
travel  and  ways  of  living,  our  stay  abroad 
was,  on  the  whole,  one  long-drawn-out  de- 
light. If  I  dare  say  it  in  the  presence  of  the 
dear  home  life  about  me,  and  in  justice  to  the 
little  darlings  asleep  upstairs,  this  was  pre- 
eminently the  romance  period  of  my  life. 

To  be  alone  with  Mary  in  the  solitude  of 
mid-ocean ;  with  her  to  thread  the  intricacies 
of  strange  cities  or  gaze  upon  rare  scenes  of 
natural  beauty ;  to  converse  together  in  our 
own  tongue  and,  as  we  fondly  imagined,  with 
never  a  listener  who  could  even  guess  our 
meaning ;  to  kneel  together  in  historic  cathe- 
drals, accommodating  ourselves  with  infantile 
awkwardness  to  strange  ceremonies  and 
almost  unknown  tongues;  together  to  view 
the  art  treasures  of  London's  famous  galleries, 
162 


OUR    HONEYMOON   ABROAD 

confessing  one  to  the  other  in  solemn  under- 
tone the  awful  sin  of  ignorance,  and  mo- 
mently breathing  aloud,  one  to  the  other, 
heretical  opinions  as  to  much  of  the  art  of  the 
old  masters ;  together  to  pierce  the  solemn 
shadows  of  Antwerp's  soul-satisfying  cathe- 
dral and  there  stand  in  the  presence  of  Rubens's 
genius ;  side  by  side  to  stand  at  the  topmost 
point  of  outlook  in  one  of  the  towers  of 
Cologne's  cathedral  and  there  look  down 
upon  the  historic  city  and  the  lower  Rhine; 
together  to  sit  on  the  steamer's  canopied 
deck,  tracing  with  memory's — and  Baedeker's 
—  aid  the  course  of  Bulwer's  love-sick  "  Pil- 
grims of  the  Rhine "  and  Longfellow's 
scarcely  less  romantic  journeyings  and  court- 
ship in  "  Hyperion  " ;  together  to  look  up 
through  a  shower  of  rain  at  poor  dismantled 
Rheinfels  and  literally  to  feel  the  lightning 
as  it  shakes  the  castle's  crumbling  walls ;  to- 
gether to  pass  through  that  very  home  of 
163 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


mediaeval  chivalry  between  Coblenz  and 
Bingen ;  to  roam  together  after  nightfall 
through  the  narrow  streets  of  Bingen,  and  at 
midnight  to  sit  at  our  hotel  window  listening 
to  the  weird  whistling  of  the  wind  and  the 
uncanny  flapping  of  sails,  our  imagination 
picturing  the  whole  goblin  under-life  "of  the 
Rhine  astir  in  the  blackness  of  darkness  be- 
yond the  pale  lights  of  the  landing ;  to  stroll 
together  along  the  terrace  of  Heidelberg's 
noble  ruin  and  there  re-read  its  story  of  medi- 
aeval loves  and  hates  and  mad  ambitions; 
together  to  climb  the  Konigstuhl  looming  far 
above  the  castle,  and  on  the  tower  crowning 
its  summit  to  wait  hopefully  for  the  clouds  to 
lift,  and  then  to  be  rewarded  with  a  view,  the 
recollection  of  which  will  make  pleasurable 
for  all  time  the  bare  mention  of  the  Neckar, 
the  Rhine,  the  Odenwald,  and  the  Black  For- 
est—  to  go  on  thus  together  through  these 
unknown  yet  well-known  regions,  in  full  en- 
164 


OUR   HONEYMOON   ABROAD 

joyment  of  health  and  strength  and  the  ambi- 
tion to  see  and  know  and  do,  never  wearying 
of  each  other,  ever  thinking  of  each  other's 
comfort  and  enjoyment,  daily  drinking  great 
draughts  from  the  fountain  of  youth,  ever 
storing  the  memory  with  sights  and  sounds 
and  incidents  and  events,  to  the  enrichment 
of  our  whole  after-life  —  that  was  a  honey- 
moon well  worth  waiting  for.  Whatever  of 
woe  or  loss  may  come  to  us  in  after  years, 
of  this  priceless  possession  we  are  sure. 


165 


XX 

THE   HUMOR   OF   IT 

MY  mind  refuses  to  be  content  with  this 
mere  generalization  of  a  journey  which 
meant  so  much  to  us.  Making  the  most  of 
the  privilege  accorded  those  who  have  passed 
on  into  the  reminiscent  period,  I  am  going  to 
put  down  somewhat  more  in  detail  the  im- 
pressions which  are  most  insistent,  paying 
little  regard  to  their  sequence  or  relative 
importance. 

Reference    has    been     made    to    Rubens's 
masterpiece  in  Antwerp's  cathedral.     To  be 
frank  with  the  reader,  there  rises  before  me 
1 66 


THE   HUMOR   OF  IT 


now,  with  far  more  vividness  than  the  im- 
mortal "  Descent  from  the  Cross,"  a  living 
picture  of  a  haggard,  wild-eyed,  weather- 
worn sailor  whom  we  chanced  to  see  kneel- 
ing upon  the  cathedral  floor  vainly  trying  to 
pray.  A  sacristan  came  to  his  relief.  Still 
kneeling,  the  sailor  gesticulated  wildly,  trag- 
ically shaking  his  head,  and  in  Belgian  French 
declaring  that  all  hope  for  him  was  gone  — 
forever  gone.  The  church  official  soothingly 
stroked  the  man's  shoulder,  and  with  com- 
forting reassurance  in  his  voice  and  face  said 
au  revoir,  hastily  departing.  He  soon  re- 
turned with  a  venerable  priest  in  tow.  The 
priest  in  a  few  whispered  words  put  new  hope 
and  courage  into  the  mariner's  shipwrecked 
soul.  He  led  the  way  to  one  of  the  cathe- 
dral chapels,  the  man  following  with  a  grim 
smile  on  his  haggard  face  which  told  of  a 
lifted  burden. 

Presto !  I    am    looking    down    upon    the 
167 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


Rhine  at  Cologne  and  sighing  for  the  castle- 
crowned  hills  to  the  south.  I  am  childishly 
glad  the  city  still  maintains  her  mediaeval 
Bridge  of  Boats,  for  it  kindly  bridges  the 
years,  leading  me  back  to  my  schoolboy 
days,  when,  with  that  persistent  Yankee  of 
old  Rome,  Julius  Caesar,  my  task  was  to  con- 
nect that  then  wild  region  of  "  all  Gaul " 
with  just  such  a  chain  of  boats  as  this. 

Here  my  mind  performs  a  veritable  mira- 
cle. One  moment  I  am  looking  out  of  my 
memory  window  at  the  Spanish  Peaks,  which 
wooed  us  on  from  Pueblo,  Colorado,  with 
tantalizing  promise  of  the  glories  that  lie 
concealed  from  us  beyond ;  the  next  I  find 
myself  back  in  Cologne's  cathedral  tower 
gazing  on  the  distant  Seven  Mountains, 
with  their  sure  promise  of  the  castled  hills 
which  make  the  Rhine  country  the  storm 
centre  of  old  romance. 

I  see  my  red-covered  "  Baedeker "  on  a 
168 


THE   HUMOR   OF   IT 


book-shelf  within  easy  reach,  and  am  tempted 
to  refresh  my  memory  and  weary  my  readers 
with  a  detailed  description  of  the  Rhine 
journey ;  but,  recalling  my  original  purpose  to 
chronicle  impressions  only,  I  turn  my  back 
on  the  tempter,  and  a  moment  later  I  have 
my  reward.  I  feel  again  the  rush  of  that 
fierce  storm  of  wind  and  rain  which  brought 
us  to  anchor  in  the  middle  of  the  river  under 
the  shadow  of  Rheinfels,  the  grandest  ruin 
that  overlooks  the  Rhine.  The  air  was 
charged  with  electricity.  As  I  have  said,  we 
literally  felt  the  lightning  as  it  shook  the  cas- 
tle's crumbling  walls ;  and  when  we  looked 
again  the  contour  of  the  ruin  was  perceptibly 
changed.  As  the  lightning  flashed  above  the 
castle  and  the  thunder  reverberated  through 
its  deserted  halls,  it  became  less  difficult  to 
realize  the  storm  and  stress  through  which 
Rheinfels  had  passed  during  those  two  hun- 
dred years,  marked  by  assault  and  siege, 
169 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


explosions  and  fire,  plague,  pestilence,  and 
famine. 

I  don't  know  just  why  we  lingered  over 
night  at  Bingen,  unless  it  was  because  of  the 
spell  which  Mrs.  Norton's  once  popular  poem 
had  thrown  over  me  in  my  early  youth.  But 
since  ours  was  altogether  a  "  sentimental 
journey,"  we  voted  that  Bingen  must  not  be 
ignored.  I  find  my  memory  of  the  town  is 
narrowing  down  to  two  impressions.  I 
vividly  recall  our  tramp  in  the  early  evening 
up  and  down  hill,  through  narrow,  dimly 
lighted  streets.  As  we  peered  inquisitively 
into  open  windows  and  doors  and  studied  the 
simple,  happy  faces  of  groups  assembled  in 
doorways  and  in  public  places,  we  were  pro- 
foundly impressed,  as  we  had  been  elsewhere, 
with  the  simple,  childlike  content  of  the  Ger- 
man people  —  a  condition  scarcely  observable 
among  our  native-born  Americans. 

I  recall  an  inconsequential  occurrence  on 
170 


THE   HUMOR    OF  IT 


our  way  from  Aachen  (Aix-la-Chapelle)  to 
Emmaburg,  the  reputed  home  of  the  romantic 
Emma,  Charlemagne's  daughter,  and  her 
lover-husband,  Eginhard.  It  was  Christi- 
bimmelfahrt  (Ascension  Day),  and  with  a 
small  party  of  German  friends  we  had  boarded 
an  excursion  train  along  with  several  hun- 
dred plain  and  well-mannered  people,  mainly 
from  the  city  factories.  Looking  out  of  the 
car  window,  we  found  ourselves  face  to  face 
with  a  father  and  daughter  —  evidently  Amer- 
icans —  seated  in  a  parlor  car  attached  to  the 
through  train  from  Paris  to  Berlin.  The 
trains  were  only  a  few  feet  apart.  The  two 
eyed  us  with  that  patronizing  air  so  becom- 
ing in  foreigners !  Without  seeming  to 
listen  we  listened,  and  this  was  the  com- 
ment that  greeted  us :  "  Quite  fine-looking 
Germans  —  for  third  class!"  With  the 
fondness  for  superlatives  so  habitual  with 
our  people,  the  young  lady  turned  her  eye- 
171 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


glasses  upon  us  once  more,  and  responded, 
"  Very." 

With  good-looking  and  fairly  well-dressed 
Germans  all  about  us,  and  my  blond-haired, 
German-madonna-faced  wife  by  my  side, —  a 
manly  little  boy  on  her  lap,  borrowed  from 
a  friend  who  had  boys  to  lend,  —  I  heartily 
enjoyed  the  qualified  compliment  uncon- 
sciously paid  us  by  our  countryman,  and 
had  n't  the  heart  to  destroy  the  illusion  by  so 
much  as  a  word  of  English. 

I  smile,  audibly,  as  I  recall  our  reception 
at  the  Hotel  le  Grand  Monarque  in  Aix-la- 
Chapelle.  A  friend  had  engaged  rooms  for 
us  weeks  before.  On  our  arrival  we  were 
obsequiously  met,  first  by  the  portier  and  then 
by  the  manager  and  manageress,  and  ushered 
into  a  front  parlor  bedroom  furnished  with 
all  the  stuffy  grandeur  of  a  half-century  ago. 
The  host  smilingly  remarked  that  he  had  ap- 
propriately given  us  the  bridal  chamber,  and 
172 


THE   HUMOR    OF   IT 


he  regretted  that  it  was  not  more  befitting  the 
dignity  of  his  guests.  "  And  here,"  he  added, 
bowing  low,  with  one  hand  on  his  heart,  the 
other  pointing  to  the  centre-table, "  here  are  a 
few  (!)  lilies  of  the  valley,  which  allow  me 
to  present  to  the  bride  with  my  especial 
compliments  !  " 

Nothing  since  that  far-off  day  in  Sacra- 
mento had  so  completely  overwhelmed  my 
Mary.  Taken  wholly  by  surprise,  she 
blushed  like  a  school  girl,  and  stammered  forth 
her  thanks,  remarking  that  she  had  thought 
our  mature  years  would  ward  off  all  suspicion 
that  we  were  newly  married.  "  And  then," 
she  added,  blushing  again,  "  it  begins  to  seem 
as  though  we  had  been  married  for  years." 

Here  the  manageress,  with  pride  in  her 
voice  and  mien,  responded,  in  rather  better 
English  than  her  noble  lord  could  com- 
mand : 

"  My  Mann  never  makes  a  mistake, 
173 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


madam.  None  are  too  old  to  escape  his 
quick  glance." 

Then,  thinking  she  had  been  too  bold,  she 
courtesied  girlishly  and  added,  "  Not  that  you 
are  old,  madam.  I  was  a  woman  grown 
when  you  were  born." 

And  with  that  the  well-matched  pair  bowed 
themselves  out,  leaving  us  free  to  give  vent 
to  our  pent-up  enjoyment  of  our  own  dis- 
comfort and  of  the  evident  satisfaction  the 
occasion  had  given  our  host  and  hostess ;  a 
satisfaction  which  fairly  blossomed  forth  on 
their  faces — and  in  the  bill  rendered  next  day. 

I  smile,  but  not  audibly,  as  I  recall  a 
trivial  incident  in  the  famous  Sckatzkammer, 
or  treasure-chamber,  of  the  cathedral  of  Aix- 
la-Chapelle.  An  ex-minister  and  his  wife 
were  our  guests,  and  we  were  showing  them 
the  sights  of  the  city,  of  which  the  famous 
ninth-century  cathedral,  built  by  Charle- 
magne, was  the  culmination.  Nearly  every- 
174 


THE    HUMOR    OF   IT 


thing  we  had  pointed  out  to  them  bore  some 
relation  to  that  high-handed,  far-sighted,  and 
pious  founder  of  empire,  whom  the  Church 
has  placed  in  its  catalogue  of  saints.  In  the 
Schatzkammer  also  there  was  much  to  fix  the 
visitor's  mind  on  Charlemagne  and  hold  it 
there.  The  sacristan  in  charge,  very  tall  and 
portly,  and  with  a  surprisingly  high-keyed 
voice,  recited  from  memory  his  well-conned 
lesson  in  English.  It  was  evident  that  he  had 
little  or  no  comprehension  of  the  meaning 
of  the  words  used. 

"  This  is  a  lock  of  hair  from  the  sacred 
head  of  Charlemagne,  a  highly  valued  relic  of 
the  saint "  ;  and  "  this  is  a  piece  of  the  shin- 
bone  of  Charlemagne  " ;  and  so  on  through 
the  list  of  carefully  treasured  relics. 

The  ex-minister,  something  of  a  wag,  and 
everywhere  made  conscious  of  too  much 
Charlemagne,  looked  up  at  the  giant  sacristan 
and  coolly  said  : 

175 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


"  My  friend,  I  've  been  hearing  very  much 
about  Charlemagne's  remains  during  the  last 
half-hour,  and  confess  I  'm  somewhat  con- 
fused. You  tell  me  Charlemagne  is  buried 
in  a  sitting  posture  under  the  dome  yonder. 
I  follow  you  to  the  &£tf£z-chamber,  or  what- 
ever you  call  it,  —  this  room,  I  mean, —  and 
here  you  point  out  the  shin-bone  and  other 
pieces  of  Charlemagne's  anatomy  scattered 
about  the  room,  each  separately  covered  with 
gold  and  encased  in  glass.  Now  how  can 
the  remains  be  there  —  and  yet  part  of  them 
be  here  ?  It  would  seem  to  me  to  be  your 
duty  to  collect  the  remains  of  your  patron 
saint  and  bury  them  in  the  tomb  yonder,  and 
so  prepare  them  for  the  resurrection  ! " 

The  ex-minister's  face  was  as  serious  as 
the  grave,  but  we  had  known  from  a  warning 
he  had  given  us  that  something  was  coming. 

The  joke,  if  you  can  call  it  a  joke,  proved 
to  be  on  himself,  for  our  sacristan,  as  I  had 
176 


THE   HUMOR   OF   IT 


known,  could  n't  comprehend  a  word  the 
man  said.  He  blushed,  and  turning  to  me 
asked  me  to  repeat  the  inquiry  in  German. 
The  request  embarrassed  me,  for  my  lin- 
guistic resources  were  limited,  and  I  had  been 
there  before  and  had  evinced  not  even  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to  the  sacredness  of 
the  relics.  I  translated  the  preamble  and 
inquiry  as  well  as  possible  without  paralyzing 
the  man  of  relics  with  the  audacity  of  his 
visitor.  Turning  a  reproachful  glance  upon 
the  irreverent  inquirer,  and  fcrgetting  for  the 
moment  his  pretension  to  a  knowledge  of  the 
English  tongue,  his  high-keyed  voice  gave 
answer,  "  Ich  weiss  nicht" 

But,  indignant  as  he  was,  the  unexpectedly 
large  supplemental  fee  placed  in  his  hand  as 
the  colonel  passed  out  of  the  chamber 
brought  a  forgiving  and  pitying  smile  to  the 
face  of  our  host. 

As  we  emerged  from  the  cathedral  Mary 

12  I77 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


whispered  to  me,  "  I  never  was  so  glad  to 
get  out  into  the  open  air !  "  The  colonel's 
wife  shook  her  husband's  arm  and  said, 
Ci  Edward,  I  'm  positively  ashamed  of  you. 
This  is  the  last  time  I  go  sight-seeing  with 
you.  I  want  to  go  home." 


178 


XXI 

THE   SENTIMENTAL   SIDE   OF  IT 

HOW  scornfully  the  memory  refuses  to 
retain  the  information  gained  from 
guides  and  guide-books,  and  how  lovingly  it 
clings  to  the  "  unconsidered  trifles,"  the  little 
"  asides,"  which  at  the  time  seemed  wholly 
trivial  !  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  follow- 
ing a  clever  guide  through  the  halls  of  Heidel- 
berg's castle  and  conscientiously  listening  to 
his  well-conned  story  of  battle  and  diplomacy 
and  intrigue,  with  which  the  famous  ruin  is 
associated  in  history  ;  but  that  is  all.  My 
179 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


memory  lingers  longest  on  the  misty  rain 
that  drove  us  under  cover,  and  the  childish 
joy  we  found  in  sitting  on  the  wall  in  one 
of  the  arches  of  the  picturesque  passage-way 
leading  to  the  Saal-Bau,  waiting  for  the  rain 
to  stop,  and  incidentally  commenting  on  the 
strangeness  of  the  fate  that  had  set  us  down 
here  in  the  very  heart  of  mediaeval  Germany, 
thus  inviting  us  to  continue  in  this  atmos- 
phere of  old  romance  a  courtship  begun  many 
thousand  miles  away  on  a  westward-looking 
coast  wholly  unknown  when  Heidelberg  was 
in  its  prime. 

Later  there  came  the  supreme  moment 
which  I  cannot  conscientiously  pass  over  with 
a  mere  mention.  Lured  by  a  brief  cessation 
of  the  rain,  we  closed  the  day,  as  we  had 
planned,  with  the  long  mile  tramp  up  the 
mountain  to  Konigstuhl  —  the  highest  point 
between  the  Neckar  and  the  Rhine.  The 
air  was  charged  with  moisture,  but  we  took 
1 80 


THE  SENTIMENTAL   SIDE  OF   IT 

our  chance  of  another  gleam  of  sunshine 
through  the  mist  and  trudged  on  up  the  steep, 
zigzag  path  until  we  reached  the  peak.  A 
tall  tower  invited  us  to  continue  the  ascent, 
though  the  top  of  the  tower  was  enveloped  in 
impenetrable  mist.  Dismissing  our  garrulous 
guide,  we  took  our  seat  under  the  canopy  on 
the  topmost  step  of  the  tower,  and  patiently 
waited  for  the  view  we  had  come  so  far  to 
see.  The  guide  gave  me  a  curious  look  as 
he  took  his  fee,  which,  translated  into  English 
and  run  into  a  proverb,  said,  u  There  's  no 
fool  like  an  old  fool !  "  What  would  he 
have  said  —  certainly  no  proverb  would  have 
done  him  justice  —  had  he  beheld  the  look 
of  serene  satisfaction  with  which  we  settled 
down  to  what  promised  to  be  a  long  and  un- 
availing wait  ?  How  could  that  common- 
place creature  comprehend  the  fact  that  even 
failure  to  witness  the  view  would  not  leave 
us  wholly  comfortless  ?  It  was  no  small 
181 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


thing  for  us,  whom  cruel  circumstance  had 
kept  apart  for  years,  simply  to  be  alone 
together  between  earth  and  sky ;  to  look 
down  from  our  eyrie  upon  the  clouds,  now 
41  shepherded  by  the  slow,  unwilling  wind," 
now  scattered  by  the  cone-shaped  fir  trees 
projecting  high  in  air,  and  to  behold  even 
with  the  mind's  eye  the  panorama  spread  out 
before  us.  And  thus  gazing,  the  thought 
came  to  us,  and  stayed  with  us,  of  how  little 
moment,  after  all,  are  the  numberless  activi- 
ties in  the  valley  below  !  How  far  removed 
from  us  the  social  and  business  and  political 
ambitions,  the  farm  and  home  cares  that 
seem  so  much  to  yonder  dwellers  on  the 
plain  ! 

Just  as  we  were  preparing  for  the  descent, 
a  phosphorescent  glow  in  the  west  gave 
promise  of  a  change.  The  mist  became  lu- 
minous; the  clouds  disappeared,  and  — 
wonder  of  wonders  !  —  there  below  us  was 
182 


THE   SENTIMENTAL   SIDE  OF  IT 

revealed,  as  though  it  were  a  dissolving  view 
materialized  for  the  moment,  only  to  pass 
away  as  it  had  come,  a  scene  so  grand,  so 
strangely  beautiful,  that  I  am  powerless  to 
do  more  than  faintly  outline  the  impression 
it  has  left  on  my  memory.  The  sunlight 
had  turned  every  drop  of  water  into  a  crys- 
tal ;  had  transformed  the  distant  Rhine  and 
the  nearer  Neckar  —  scarcely  released  from 
their  covering  of  mist  —  into  molten-silver 
streams ;  had  turned  every  gray  villa  and 
whitewashed  cottage  into  a  palace  of  light. 
Almost  beneath  us  seemed  the  Neckar,  wind- 
ing its  way  forth  from  its  imprisonment 
among  the  mountains.  To  the  west  shone 
the  Rhine,  a  long,  satiny,  white  ribbon  — 
with  the  curl  not  out  of  it  yet  —  beginning 
far  to  the  south,  beyond  the  velvety  black 
edges  of  the  Black  Forest.  The  sunlight 
made  one  last  sweep  over  the  plain  and  hills 
and  mountains,  lighting  up  scores  of  villages 
183 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


and  giving  us  memorable  glimpses  of  the 
Odenwald  and  the  Hartz  mountains  to  the 
northeast,  —  and  then  all  this  beauty  and 
grandeur  was  enveloped  in  mist,  and  we 
descended  to  earth. 


184 


XXII 

A  DIP   INTO   HISTORY 

NOR  would  I  forget  that  ideal  Summer 
day  we  spent  amid  the  ruins  that  mark 
the  once  famous  seat  of  the  Julichs.  High 
above  the  valley  of  the  Roer  east  of  Diissel- 
dorf,  commanding  an  unsurpassable  view  of 
sun-illumined  fields  of  green  and  yellow,  and 
including  miles  of  narrow  and  winding  river, 
spanned  here  and  there  by  picturesquely 
arched  stone  bridges,  stands  the  ruined  castle 
of  Nideggen,  where  in  the  stormy  twelfth  cen- 
tury a  rough  and  barbarous  Count  Wilhelm 
lorded  it  over  his  retainers,  and  where,  in  his 
185 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


wrath  against  the  warlike  Archbishop  Engel- 
bert  II.,  he  shut  his  prisoner  in  a  cage  and 
hung  the  cage  on  the  outer  wall,  defying  his 
enemies  to  come  and  take  him.  The  chroni- 
cles of  Cologne  tell  us  that  for  three  years 
and  a  half  the  archbishop  divided  his  time 
between  the  chapel,  the  keep,  and  the  cage ; 
and,  having  a  fine  sense  of-poetic  justice,  the 
chronicler  declares  that  the  ghost  of  the 
wicked  count,  unable  to  rest  at  night, 
awakens,  frightened  by  bad  dreams,  rolls 
from  side  to  side  in  his  tomb,  rises  and  goes 
down  into  the  dungeon,  and,  as  he  was  wont 
to  do  in  life,  rattles  the  chains  which  once 
bound  Engelbert,  and  then  takes  up  his  slow 
and  weary  walk  through  the  rooms  and  on 
the  walls  of  the  castle,  thus  doomed  to  live 
over  again  and  again  this  shameful  chapter 
in  his  shameless  life. 

But   this   is   history  —  though   the   merest 
outline  —  and    my   story  is    personal.      We 
1 86 


A  DIP   INTO    HISTORY 


left  the  rail  at  Diiren,  where  a  private  carriage, 
placed  at  our  disposal  by  a  rich  manufacturer, 
rapidly  conveyed  us  through  three  or  four 
picturesque  little  villages  off  the  main  high- 
way. It  was  a  Catholic  holiday  and  every- 
body was  attired  in  his  Sunday  best.  The 
men  with  their  long  pipes  and  sabots,  the 
women  in  their  short  frocks,  heavy  slippers, 
and  home-knit  pink  stockings,  the  barefooted 
children  gleefully  chasing  one  another;  the 
dogs,  cows,  pigs,  and  chickens  —  everything 
that  had  life — gazed  in  wonder  upon  our 
overwhelming  equipage,  doubtless  fancying 
us  to  be  titled  folk  or  immensely  rich,  instead 
of  an  unpretending  American  couple  on  their 
wedding  journey,  and  a  trifle  embarrassed  by 
their  borrowed  splendor. 

From  his  high  seat  our  driver  could  look 

into    the    projecting    second    stories    of   the 

little  old  bulging  cottages  crowded  in  thickly 

along  the   narrow   streets ;    he  could,  but  he 

187 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


would  n't  think  of  such  a  thing  !  Attired  in 
livery  of  green,  with  "  buttons  all  over  'im," 
and  with  a  shining  tile  drawn  well  down  over 
his  massive  brow,  he  had  a  certain  dignity  to 
sustain,  and  evidently  regarded  ours  as  quite 
uncertain.  He  looked  neither  to  the  right 

O 

nor  to  the  left.     We  did  the  looking ! 

Finally  the  walled  town  of  Nideggen 
loomed  before  our  vision,  and  soon  we  drove 
through  the  city's  ponderous  gate,  no  guard 
obstructing  our  passage.  We  had  not  been 
long  enough  abroad  to  feel  quite  at  ease  as 
the  old  men  and  boys  along  our  triumphal 
way  to  the  inn  honored  our  coming  with 
uplifted  hats.  I  admitted  the  fact  that  this 
homage  to  an  American  made  me  feel  a  trifle 
conscience-smitten.  Mary  laughed  at  my 
scruples  and  said  she  rather  enjoyed  it;  it 
seemed  a  partial  realization  of  some  of  the 
Jane  Austen  inspired  dreams  of  her  girl- 
hood. 

1 88 


A  DIP   INTO   HISTORY 


I  am  not  going  to  describe  the  castle  or 
the  church,  or  other  interesting  environ- 
ments of  other  days,  though  I  will  admit  I 
have  to  fight  continually  an  old  man's  ten- 
dency to  prose.  My  choicest  recollection  of 
Nideggen  is  of  the  short  half-hour  we  spent 
sitting  on  the  bench  in  the  street  in  front  of 
the  inn,  waiting  for  supper  and  watching  the 
throng  of  villagers  coming  and  going,  and 
in  undertone  repeating  the  little  confidences 
which  come  to  a  pair  very  much  in  love  and 
completely  isolated  from  the  commonplaces 
of  home  and  from  the  regulation  sights  along 
the  main  lines  of  travel. 

u  How  strange,"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  that 
you  and  I  are  here  together  !  How  did  it 
come  about  ?  Sometimes,  for  the  moment,  I 
feel  as  though  it  could  n't  be  right  to  be  so 
happy  all  alone  with  you  in  a  strange  land." 

My  wise  (or  was  it  unwise  ?)  answer  was 
that  that  was  one  of  the  differences  be- 
189 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


tween  women  and  men.  Women  retain 
longest  the  old  mediaeval  idea  that  we  must 
distrust  our  joys,  while  men  philosophically 
take  what  comes  of  happiness,  and  ask  no 
questions. 


190 


XXIII 

IN   OSTEND,    BUT   NOT   OF  IT 

BEFORE  quitting  the  continent  I  want  to 
chronicle  an  impression  of  Ostend  —  the 
jumping-off  place  of  Belgium,  and  one  of  the 
most  popular  summer  resorts  of  continental 
Europe.  Nowhere  else  was  I  so  thoroughly 
impressed  with  the  artificial  splendors  of  the 
gay  world  abroad  and  of  our  apartness  from 
it  all,  our  lack  of  sympathy  with  it  all.  At 
no  other  point  was  my  soul  so  driven  back 
upon  itself  with  wonder  and  amazement  at 
the  follies  of  my  brother  man.  The  glass- 
fronted  dining-saloons  of  the  hotels,  ranged 
191 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


along  the  broad  dyke,  were  wide  open  to  the 
sea,  enabling  us  as  we  sauntered  along  the 
dyke  to  pass  from  one  scene  of  bewildering 
elegance  to  another  and  another. 

The  railings  were  so  many  picture  frames, 
beautiful  with  trailing  vines  and  flowers. 
Elegant  toilettes  commanded  my  Mary's  pro- 
found admiration,  and  she  thriftily  undertook 
to  estimate  the  cost  of  this  and  that  elabo- 
rately made  gown.  I  recall  two  evident 
lovers  in  a  flower-framed  balcony,  looking 
unutterable  things.  The  little  lady,  in  pale 
blue  silk  and  an  abundance  of  lace,  was  sub- 
stituting a  delicate  bouquet  of  her  own  arrang- 
ing for  a  gaudy  one  of  her  lover's  choosing, 
and  he  was  blushing  at  the  indirect  assault 
upon  his  taste. 

As  we  strolled  on  past  Ostend  at  her 
dinner,  I  made  the  ungallant  remark,  "  How 
commojnplace  we  are  as  compared  with  all 
this  splendor  !  " 

192 


IN   OSTEND,   BUT   NOT   OF  IT 

Mary  held  my  arm  a  trifle  tighter  than 
before,  and  smilingly  rebuked  me  with, 
"  I  wonder  you  did  n't  make  the  discovery 
before." 

Without  waiting  to  weigh  my  words  I 
exclaimed,  "  Thank  God  for  the  common- 
place !  This  artificial  life  would  drive  me 
mad." 

Of  course  we  tried  the  so-called  bathing 
machines  — nothing  more  than  portable  bath- 
houses drawn  by  horses  into  and  out  of  the 
water.  My  most  distinct  memory  of  this 
experience  is  of  a  recurrence  of  Mary's  feel- 
ing of  strangeness  —  alone  with  me  in  this 
little  house  and  several  rods  from  land. 

In  the  early  evening  we  joined  the  crowd 
on  their  way  to  the  Cursaal.  Under  the 
great  dome  of  the  amphitheatre  we  took 
seats  at  one  of  the  many  hundred  tea-stands, 
and  while  we  sipped  our  tea  listened  delight- 
edly to  an  orchestra  led  by  a  venerable  man 
13  193 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


with  long  gray  hair,  who  seemed  strangely 
out  of  place  and  time,  the  centre  of  a  thou- 
sand or  more  very  voluble,  painfully  modern 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  We  passed  on  into 
the  gambling-room,  rinding  it  as  thronged 
as  we  had  found  the  reading-room  empty. 
Three  tables  were  in  active  operation,  and 
silver  and  gold  were  changing  hands  with 
confusing  rapidity.  At  the  tables  sat  several 
elderly  ladies,  winning  and  losing  without 
show  of  emotion.  One  lady  past  seventy, 
with  a  worldly  beautiful  face,  stood  behind  a 
pretty  young  girl  coaching  her  on  certain 
points  of  the  game.  Evidently  she  had  made 
a  careful  study  of  what  John  Stuart  Mill 
terms  "  the  elimination  of  chances."  Old 
men  and  mere  youths,  grandmothers  and 
granddaughters,  were  seated  side  by  side.  I 
have  rarely  witnessed  a  more  depressing  sight 
than  those  circles  of  amateur  gamblers  —  all 
silent,  their  joyless,  stoical  faces  schooled 
194 


IN   OSTEND,   BUT   NOT   OF   IT 

against  all  expression  of  emotion.  Even  the 
gamblers  in  the  Chinese  quarter  of  San 
Francisco,  with  their  hellish  chatter,  have  at 
least  an  undertone  of  sociability. 

It  was  a  relief  to  escape  from  this  fasci- 
nating scene  and  emerge  into  the  ballroom. 
The  literally  mad  whirl  was  on.  The 
waltzers  wound  round  and  round,  like  whirl- 
ing dervishes.  We  had  thought  to  join  the 
dance,  but  a  few  moments'  observation  con- 
vinced us  that  we  were  not  of  this  little 
world,  and  had  best  refrain  from  making  a 
spectacle  of  ourselves.  We  retired  to  an 
adjoining  restaurant  and  soon  found  ourselves 
in  a  world  in  which  we  could  vigorously 
take  part. 

We  had  scarcely  begun  our  lunch  when 
Mary's  eye  became  riveted  on  a  couple  seated 
at  a  table  across  the  room.  The  gentleman 
was  faultlessly  attired  in  an  evening  suit,  and 
a  huge  diamond  glistened  on  the  little  finger 
'95 


AN    OLD    MAN'S    IDYL 


of  his  large,  full-blooded  hand.  The  lady 
was  apparently  about  half  his  age',  and  her 
beauty  of  face  and  form  was  in  striking  con- 
trast with  his  coarseness  and  general  redness. 
He  seemed  the  typical  Parisian  clubman ; 
she  a  flesh  and  blood  realization  of  one  of 
Balzac's  charming  pictures  of  femininity  — 
the  Duchesse  de  Langlais,  for  example. 

"  Do  you  think  they  are  husband  and 
wife  ?  "  asked  Mary  in  an  undertone,  after 
vainly  endeavoring  to  gather  the  desired  in- 
formation from  their  rapid  conversation. 

"  How  can  I  even  guess  ?  "  I  replied. 
"  Does  the  marriage  relation  so  stamp  itself 
upon  man  and  woman  that  ever  after,  when 
seen  together,  the  stamp  is  in  evidence  ? 
And  do  you  think  we  have  that  unmistakable 
impress  ?  If  not  yet,  how  long  will  it  be 
before  I  shall  be  promoted  from  possible 
father  or  uncle  to  unquestioned  husband  ?  " 

Ignoring  my  banter,  all  the  time  watching 
196 


IN   OSTEND,    BUT   NOT   OF   IT 

the  couple  from  out  the  corners  of  her  eyes, 
Mary  exclaimed  :  "  I  feel  as  though  I  ought 
to  interfere.  That  brutal  man  keeps  rilling 
her  glass,  and  she  seems  to  think  she  must 
empty  it  as  often  as  he  fills  it.  And  see, 
there  comes  a  second  bottle  !  I  just  believe 
the  brute  has  hypnotized  her,  don't  you  ?  " 

After  due  deliberation  I  gave  my  judgment 
in  these  guarded  words  :  "  No,  my  dear,  she 
is  drinking  the  wine  because  she  likes  it.  It 
is  hard  for  one  of  your  Puritan  birth  and 
education  to  comprehend  the  wine-drinking 
habits  of  the  French." 

As  we  took  our  departure,  Mary,  still  of 
the  same  opinion,  gave  one  last  appealing 
glance  at  the  couple,  saying  in  undertone,  "  I 
still  feel  a  solicitude  for  that  dear  little  woman. 
How  can  she  help  becoming  intoxicated  ? 
And  then  think  of  her  helplessness  in  the 
hands  of  that  brute  of  a  man  !  " 

Soon  we  were  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer 
197 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


headed  toward  Dover,  the  continent  of 
Europe  slipping  from  us,  —  as  it  proved, 
forever.  It  was  a  glorious  sight.  The  wan- 
ing moon  followed  us  westward,  silvering  our 
steamer's  long  trail  and  covering  earth  and 
sea  with  a  halo.  Establishing  ourselves  side 
by  side  in  steamer  chairs,  with  our  steamer 
rug  over  us,  we  watched  the  long  row  of 
lights  along  the  dyke  and  the  palace  of  light 
we  had  left,  and  in  low  tones  went  over  the 
events  of  the  evening,  chiefly  impressed  with 
the  artificiality  of  the  life  we  had  looked  in 
upon  and  our  own  apartness  from  it  all.  Just 
before  sleep  came  upon  us  I  felt  a  hand  in 
mine  and  heard  in  drowsy  tones  the  words, 
"  How  happy  I  am  to  leave  it  all  behind 
and  to  be  alone  with  you  on  the  water  —  and 
with  our  dear  old  San  Diego  moon  keeping 
watch  and  ward  over  us  !  " 


198 


XXIV 

SOMEWHAT    LOST   IN   LONDON 


•*— '  place  the  suggestion,  but  how  romantic 
the  experience  to  us  home-grown  provincials, 
unused  to  other  than  chess-board  villages  and 
cities !  The  commonest  cab,  whose  red- 
faced  driver  recklessly  turned  his  horse  to  the 
left  —  seeming  to  compel  everybody  else  to 
turn  to  the  left  —  was  far  better  than  the  cost- 
liest carriage,  because  more  exclusive.  The 
well-nigh  aimless  'bus  rides  through  the  great 
thoroughfares,  which  seemed  so  narrow  and 
congested,  were  somewhat  repressive  in  ten- 
199 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


dency  ;  but  the  throng  of  humanity  below  us 
on  the  street  gave  us  another  phase  of  that 
delightful  aloneness  which  was  the  chief 
charm  of  our  long  wedding  journey.  Sure 
of  each  other,  we  feigned  the  usual  old- 
married-couple  indifference  to  finding  seats 
together,  and  the  result  was  a  variety  of  ex- 
periences, all  pleasant,  which  raised  our 
former  low  opinion  of  the  civility  and  intelli- 
gence of  the  shop  people  and  mechanics 
of  the  great  metropolis.  When  one  of  us 
would  succeed  in  drawing  out  something 
more  than  commonly  interesting,  the  atten- 
tion of  the  other  was  called  to  the  story, — • 
whether  it  was  true  or  fanciful  mattered  little 
to  us,  —  and  the  narrator,  shrewdly  seeing 
the  belated  bride  and  groom  beneath  our 
dusty,  travel-worn  garments  and  our  feigned 
indifference,  would  kindly  repeat  his  story 
with  such  enlargement  as  the  unexpected 
interest  of  his  hearers  seemed  to  warrant, 
zoo 


SOMEWHAT    LOST   IN   LONDON 

Thus,  like  children  in  the  woods,  we  wan- 
dered aimlessly  through  rain  and  shine  and 
mist,  and  at  the  end  of  the  long  day  relied 
on  our  never-failing  providence  —  the  cabby 
—  to  convey  us  back  to  our  starting  point. 

One  Sunday  evening  I  experienced  a  novel 
sensation  —  a  slight  qualm  of  jealousy  !  the 
first  since  that  incident  on  the  beach  near  Salt 
Lake  City.  An  old  lover  of  my  wife,  him- 
self now  married  and  settled  in  a  suburb  of 
London,  called  by  appointment  at  our  hotel. 
The  greetings  were  unusually  cordial.  Our 
interchange  of  congratulations  was  all  that 
convention  could  ask.  We  tried  to  draw 
out  our  visitor  as  to  his  London  life,  his 
London  wife,  and  how  it  all  came  about ; 
but  he  responded  only  in  commonplace  gen- 
eralities, with  Irish  wit  turning  the  conversa- 
tion to  suit  his  own  stubborn  will  and 
purpose.  The  talk  then  turned  to  "the 
good  old  days,"  which  he  frankly  and  feel- 
201 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


ingly  admitted  were  his  happiest  days.  As 
his  experience  in  America  antedated  my 
special  interest  in  Mary,  I  modestly  relapsed 
into  silence,  and  he,  with  steadily  increasing 
volubility,  made  good  the  partial  vacuum  in 
the  conversation.  After  a  brief  flow  of 
hilarity  our  visitor  and  Mary  settled  down 
to  the  detail  work  of  reminiscence  —  a  kind 
of  talk  always  interesting  to  one,  sometimes 
to  two,  but  usually  a  -bore  to  a  third.  I 
excused  myself,  pleading  the  need  of  fresh  air 
and  exercise. 

I  walked  on  and  on  through  streets  im- 
mortalized by  historians  and  novelists,  but 
how  little  of  active  interest  I  felt  in  all  I 
saw  !  I  felt  for  the  first  time  the  full  meas- 
ure of  my  indebtedness  to  the  sweet-hearted, 
glad-eyed  woman  whom  I  had  left  at  the 
hotel,  talking  over  old  times  with  an  old 
lover  —  old  times  in  which  I  had  no  part, 
save  only  as  the  "  middle-aged  walking  gent  " 
202 


SOMEWHAT   LOST  IN  LONDON 

in  the  comedy,  here  and  there  appearing  on 
the  scene  to  give  it  a  trifle  more  of  color.  A 
clock  from  some  distant  tower  with  painful 
deliberateness  struck  the  hour  of  nine  —  the 
hour  our  visitor  had  named  for  his  departure. 
A  near-by  clock  with  more  urgency  repeated 
the  notification.  I  turned  about,  quickened 
my  pace,  and  soon  reached  the  hotel.  Enter- 
ing the  parlor  adjoining  the  one  in  which  I 
had  left  the  ex-lovers,  I  heard  the  low  mur- 
mur of  their  voices,  his  —  after  the  old-time 
manner  of  the  man  —  firmly  controlling  the 
conversation.  I  had  not  the  heart  to  break 
in  upon  them,  and  so  took  a  seat  by  the 
window  and  watched  the  weird  effects  of 
mingled  starlight  and  lamplight  on  Trafalgar 
Square,  the  statue  of  Nelson  in  its  exalted 
isolation  looking  down  upon  me  as  from 
history,  suggesting  some  things  which  needed 
to  be  said  to  me.  The  old  sea-captain 
seemed  to  say  : 

203 


AN    OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


"  What  do  you  know  of  loneliness  ?  What 
have  you  to  complain  of?  Re-read  the  story 
of  the  last  years  of  my  life  and  you  will 
fall  upon  your  knees  and  thank  God  that 
He  has  sent  you,  to  comfort  your  declining 
years,  that  guileless,  sweet-souled  Puritan 
yonder,  who  has  put  herself,  soul  and  body, 
into  your  care  and  keeping,  asking  no  ques- 
tions as  to  the  heart  secrets  of  your  past, 
yet  frankly  telling  you  the  little  all  she  has 
to  tell  of  her  own  heart  history." 

Without  waiting  for  further  reflection  I 
pushed  the  hall  doors  farther  back  with  a  slam 
to  announce  myself,  and  soon  appeared  upon 
the  scene.  You  should  have  witnessed  the 
relief  which  came  over  my  Mary's  tell-tale 
face  on  seeing  me  once  more  standing  before 
her,  safe  and  unharmed !  She  rushed  to  me, 
and  apparently  unconscious  of  the  presence 
of  her  guest,  covered  my  face  with  kisses, 
between  sobs  of  relief  exclaiming  : 
204 


SOMEWHAT   LOST  IN   LONDON 

"  Darling,  never  do  that  again  !  Why, 
suppose  anything  had  happened  to  you  in  the 
street  —  suppose  you  had  been  waylaid  and 
robbed  and  killed,  or  even  beaten  to  insen- 
sibility, —  who  would  have  identified  you  ? 
Where  would  you  have  been  carried  ?  What 
would  have  become  of  me,  alone  in  this  great 
city,  and  with  only  a  single  near  friend,  and 
he  with  a  family  at  home  awaiting  his  com- 
ing ?  Arthur  would  soon  have  been  obliged 
to  leave  me  alone  in  this  dreary  hotel.  Oh, 
the  anguish  with  which  I  waited  and  listened 

D 

for  your  step  !  And  when  I  heard  the  doors 
slam  I  just  knew  they  were  bringing  you  in 
maimed  or  dead  —  the  loud  noise  they  made 
was  so  unlike  you  !  " 

Thus  unwound,  her  self-control  gave  way 
entirely,  and  laying  her  head  upon  my  shoul- 
der she  gave  herself  up  to  hysterical  sobs. 

The  Arthur  of  other  days,  now  thoroughly 
subdued  by  this  tragic  exhibition  of  grief, 
205 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


gently  and  courteously  bade  us  farewell,  tak- 
ing with  him  our  heartiest  good  wishes  for 
himself  and  family. 

I  proceeded  to  make  the  best  apologies  I 
could  invent  for  my  thoughtless  and  unman- 
nerly long  stay.  I  had  n't  the  heart  to  tell 
her,  my  trusting  bride  of  less  than  a  year, 
that  I  had  allowed  myself  to  indulge,  even 
for  a  moment,  in  a  swift-fleeting  qualm  of 
jealousy  —  the  first  to  enter  my  soul  since 
that  far-off  day  in  Utah,  and,  thank  God  ! 
the  last  in  all  these  years  we  have  spent 
together.  And  thank  God  again  for  the  cer- 
tainty that  comes  to  me  now  —  the  certainty 
that  no  future  misunderstanding  can  by  any 
possibility  estrange  us !  Of  this  I  am  surer 
than  that  I  shall  live  to  see  to-morrow's 
sun. 


206 


XXV 

IN   SCOTLAND   AND   THE   LAKE 
COUNTRY 

OUR  Scotland  is  a  succession  of  fast- 
flitting  pictures,  with  only  here  and 
there  a  rest  for  mind  and  heart.  That 
delightful  evening  with  friends  in  Milngavie ! 
—  a  mansion  several  centuries  old,  which 
once  had  entertained  one  of  the  Charleses  and 
naturally  was  proud  of  the  tradition  ;  a  family 
in  which  hospitality  was  extended  with  a 
quiet  enthusiasm  that  betokened  positive 
pleasure.  I  see  before  me  now  the  stately 
wife  and  mother  seated  at  the  piano  im- 
207 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


provising  accompaniments  to  songs  she  had 
never  before  heard,  my  Mary  with  delightful 
abandon  pouring  out  her  glad  soul  in  song. 
And  that  dainty  bit  of  femininity  in  white,  a 
niece  from  Jamaica !  Her  thin,  plaintive 
voice  throbbed  with  emotion,  and  as  she 
sang  the  quaint  songs  of  her  island  home  the 
tears  started  from  my  eyes  —  I  know  not 
just  why. 

My  mind  lingers  over  that  long  summer 
twilight  at  Oban  —  at  least  a  hundred  miles 
north  of  our  own  Manitoba.  After  a  late 
dinner  we  walked  far  to  the  south  of  the 
village  and  there  for  hours  sat  watching  the 
gold-red  sea  of  sky  filled  with  lazily  float- 
ing islands  of  clouds.  The  village  with  its 
many  lights  extended  a  cheery  welcome  to 
incoming  fisher  craft  and  pleasure  yachts. 
Upon  the  craggy  height  to  the  northwest 
stood  the  black  tower  of  Dunolly  Castle, 
silhouetted  against  the  phosphorescent  glow. 
208 


SCOTLAND  AND  THE  LAKE  COUNTRY 

After  a  long  and  eloquent  silence  I  looked 
at  my  watch  to  find  it  was  nearing  mid- 
night. 

"  What  matter  ?"  said  Mary,  grasping  my 
hand  and  bidding  me  resume  my  seat.  "  Are 
you  not  happy  here  ?  I  am.  What  are 
figures  on  the  dial  ?  When  we  take  up  our 
new  life  on  the  other  side,  of  course  we  '11 
have  to  consult  the  clock,  we  '11  have  to  eat 
and  drink  and  sleep  and  work  and  play  by  the 
clock.  But  here  and  now,  my  Festus,  I  want 
to  l  count  time  by  heart-throbs,'  or,  better  yet, 
not  think  of  time  at  all." 

Then  came  this  burst  of  confidence,  quite 
taking  me  by  storm  : 

"  Dear  husband,  how  sweet  of  you  to 
love  and  marry  me  and  bring  me  with  you 
to  far-away  Oban  !  My  soul  is  filled  with 
a  flood  of  new  happiness  which  only  Oban 
could  supply.  How  did  you  happen  to 
think  of  Oban  ?  I  had  never  heard  of  it ; 
M  209 


AN    OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


and  yet  now  it  seems  to  me  that  of  all 
the  sights  I  have  seen,  this  best  satisfies  my 
soul." 

Then,  suddenly  becoming  serious,  she 
added,  "  But  if  you  were  not  here  the  sol- 
emn beauty  of  this  scene  would  drive  me 
mad ! " 

I  dare  not  tell  in  detail  the  story  of  our 
visit  to  the  lake  region  of  England,  for  every 
detail  is  charged  with  so  much  of  special  in- 
terest to  me.  As  is  usual,  the  inconse- 
quential lingers  longest  in  my  mind.  I 
recall  the  sense  of  importance  with  which  we 
sat  down  to  supper  in  the  second  floor  din- 
ing-room of  the  old  inn  at  Cockermouth. 
On  the  departure  of  the  maid  for  the  kitchen 
Mary  looked  across  the  big  table  and  said, 
"  It  seems  as  though  we  were  living  over  a 
chapter  in  some  old  English  novel.  It  is 
hard  to  realize  that  you  are  you  and  I  am  I, 
sitting  bolt  upright  in  these  high-backed 
210 


SCOTLAND  AND  THE  LAKE  COUNTRY 

chairs,  on  opposite  sides  of  this  great  table 
centuries  old.  If  I  was  n't  afraid  of  shock- 
ing that  dear  little  maid  —  hear  her  step  on 
the  stairs  ?  —  I  'd  come  around  on  your  side 
of  the  table  and  actually  hug  and  kiss  you, 
just  to  assure  myself  that  it  is  real ! " 

More  fortunate  than  when  we  were  in 
Scotland,  our  stage  drive  through  the  lake 
region  of  England  was  in  a  blaze  of  sunlight, 
with  only  now  and  then  a  mist  and  a  few 
drops  of  rain.  Somehow  it  seemed  a  home- 
coming, this  trip.  Some  strain  of  atavism 
asserted  itself,  informing  me  that  all  this  was 
mine,  as  it  had  been  my  forebears',  to  have 
and  to  enjoy.  The  spirit  of  youth  took 
possession  of  me,  and  I  allowed  myself  to 
talk  familiarly  with  Skiddaw  and  Helvellyn. 
I  dropped  my  reserve  with  our  fellow  travel- 
lers and  drew  from  a  sombre  old  lady  the 
remark  (possibly  ironical),  "You  Ameri- 
cans are  very  clever  !  "  Mary  sat  smiling 
211 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


demurely  by  my  side,  silent  most  of  the  time. 
"  perfectly  happy,"  she  said,  and  her  radiant 
face  confirmed  her  testimony. 

The  driver  gave  a  free  ride  to  an  old  ex- 
coachman  on  his  way  to  Ambleside  to  see 
his  sister.  I  asked  him  how  long  he  had 
lived  in  the  lake  region.  He  answered, 
41  Seventy  odd  year,  but  I  've  got  a  mother 
as  can  beat  that ;  she 's  lived  here  and  here- 
about upward  of  ninety  year." 

I  asked  him  if  he  knew  Wordsworth. 

"  Knew  'im  well,"  was  his  quick  answer. 
"And  a  nice  man  'e  was.  Nobody  never 
said  nothin'  agen  Mr.  Wordsworth  —  they 
could  n't.  But  he  was  the  forgetfullest  man 
I  ever  seen.  'E  'd  forget  'is  'ead  if  it 
was  n't  fast !  Many  a  time  I  've  seen  'is 
sister  followin'  'im  out  to  the  gate  to  brush 
the  dander  off  'is  coat." 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  the  old 
man  continued :  "  It 's  nice  in  you  outsiders 
212 


SCOTLAND  AND  THE  LAKE  COUNTRY 

to  'old  'im  in  such  store;  but,  between  me 
an'  you,  barrin'  'is  portry,  of  which  I  hain't 
no  judge,  'e  wa'n't  thought  to  be  so  much 
more  'n  'is  neighbors,  and  I  'm  certain  'e 
never  set  'imself  up  to  be." 


213 


XXVI 

BETWEEN   SEA   AND   SKY 

ON  shipboard  and  headed  toward  home! 
How  vividly  do  I  recall  the  thrill  of  joy 
with  which  we  stood  on  deck  that  first  even- 
ing out,  and  watched  alternately  the  receding 
land  of  the  Britons  and  the  glory  of  the  western 
sky  welcoming  us  back  to  our  home  !  How 
the  word  "  home  "  had  grown  in  my  vocab- 
ulary within  a  single  year !  In  sentiment  it 
had  previously  meant  to  me  my  home  town, 
county,  State.  In  fact  it  had  meant  little 
more  to  me  than  two  square  rooms  with  books 
scattered  everywhere  —  on  shelves,  mantels, 
214 


BETWEEN   SEA   AND   SKY 

tables,  chairs,  and  the  floor.  During  my 
Wanderjahr  it  had  grown  to  mean  immeasur- 
ably more  than  that  —  in  sentiment  and  in 
fact.  In  sentiment  it  had  expanded  until  it 
covered  the  whole  country ;  and  the  flag, 
which  once  had  seemed  to  me  a  combination 
of  incongruous  colors,  was  now  all  the  poet 
Drake  had  seen  in  it.  The  sentiment  had 
even  invaded  the  narrow  precinct  of  fact. 
"Home"  to  me  now  meant  more  living 
rooms,  and,  too,  more  room  for  books.  And 
yet,  infinitely  more  than  these,  it  meant  a 
sacred  retreat  from  the  rough  usages  of  the 
world,  with  a  priestess  installed  therein,  whose 
presence  would  be  "  a  good  diffused,"  whose 
morning  and  evening  words  of  faith  and  hope 
and  cheer  would  be  to  me  both  mass  and 
vesper  service, —  embodied  worship,  a  sub- 
stantial bit  of  heaven  on  earth.  How  much 
more  than  all  this  our  home  has  actually  been 
to  me  let  these  chronicles  of  the  comings  and 
215 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


goings  of  our  Ada  and  Marie  bear  their  own 
simple  testimony. 

Two  pictures  rise  before  me  at  the  men- 
tion of  our  return  voyage.  One  was  the 
strangely  becalmed,  star-lighted  ocean  at 
midnight,  recalling  Shelley's  "  speaking  quiet- 
ude." It  was  our  second  night  out.  Fastnet 
and  the  Needles  were  long  past,  and  not  a 
light  save  "  heaven's  signal  lamps "  was  to 
be  seen  in  all  that  great  circle  of  blue  water 
and  sky.  As  we  sat  alone  in  our  preempted 
corner  on  the  upper  deck  we  seemed  the  sole 
inhabitants  of  a  planet  whirring  through 
space. 

"  Mary,"  I  sentimentally  exclaimed,  hold- 
ing her  hand  more  tightly  than  before, "  do 
you  not  see  —  can  you  not  feel — in  this 
impressive  solitude  the  solemn  fact  that 
through  the  coming  years  you  and  I  are  to  be 
very  much  alone  —  together,  yet  alone  — 
alone  with  God  ?  " 

216 


BETWEEN  SEA   AND   SKY 

With  a  tremor  of  happiness  in  her  voice 
and  in  her  tightening  grasp  of  my  hand, 
Mary  answered,  "  Yes,  dear  one,  and  I  am 
glad  it  is  so.  God  will  not — cannot  — 
leave  me  comfortless,  with  you  by  my  side." 

How  petty  seemed  all  that  Old  World 
striving  after  social  recognition,  its  worship 
of  rank,  its  over-regard  for  externals  !  How 
futile  the  mad  race  for  wealth  and  position 
everywhere  apparent  on  our  own  side  of  the 
Atlantic  !  How  everlastingly  wise  we  were 
in  our  unworldly  wisdom  that  night  with  God 
on  the  sea  ! 

The  one  other  impression  I  would  record 
is  of  our  day  in  fairyland.  In  my  boyish 
dreams  I  had  many  times  sailed  away  into 
cloudland,  and  later  I  had  followed  Shelley's 
"  Queen  Mab "  and  Balzac's  "  Seraphita," 
into  regions  far  remote  from  earth  ;  but  it 
was  reserved  for  these  my  Indian  summer 
days  —  this  actual  journey  into  cloudland  ! 
217 


AN    OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


The  ocean  was  calm  as  an  inland  lake  in 
summer.  Great  banks  of  clouds  enveloped 
us,  the  sunlight  imparting  to  them  a  silvery 
sheen.  They  seemed  about  to  dissolve,  and 
yet  they  lingered.  Great  open  spaces  seemed 
like  lakes  banked  by  snow-covered  hills. 
Through  this  unsubstantial  archipelago  our 
steamer  pushed  on  and  on,  now  emerging 
into  some  vast  inland  sea,  now  wholly  shut 
in  by  clouds.  u  Who  could  have  guessed 
we  would  visit  fairyland  together  ? "  was 
Mary's  exclamation  as  we  sailed  out  of  the 
cloud-banks  into  the  sunlight. 


218 


XXVII 

OUR   FIRST   OUTING   SINCE   THE 
CHILDREN   CAME 

AUGUST    i,    1884.  — I    can't    let   our 
July  outing  pass  without  a  report,  for 
it  was  our  first  jaunt  together  since  the  chil- 
dren came. 

Our  start  from  home  was  accompanied  by 
an  episode.  A  minute  after  the  fixed  time 
of  departure  we  boarded  a  moving  train, 
only  to  hear  from  the  conductor,  when  too 
late  to  retreat,  that  we  should  have  taken  the 
second,  not  the  first  one  out.  This  train,  we 
were  informed,  would  bear  us  from,  not  to, 
219 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


our  destination  !  Nothing  remained  but  to 
get  off  at  the  first  station,  there  wait  for  a 
train  back  to  our  starting  point,  and  in  the 
evening  make  another  start. 

Instead  of  inwardly  swearing  at  the  situa- 
tion, we  laughed  at  our  vexation  and  decided 
to  make  a  lark  of  it.  Of  course  our  friends 
who  may  read  this  confession  will  divest  the 
term  "  lark "  of  its  usual  associations  when 
they  find  it  employed  by  a  staid  old  couple 
who  do  not  boast  a  single  bad  habit ! 

As  we  alighted  from  the  car  at  the  siding, 
we  saw  at  a  glance  that  we  should  be  thrown 
upon  our  own  resources  for  entertainment 
during  our  enforced  stay.  The  station  agent 
evidently  suspected  us  of —  something,  I 
don't  and  I  guess  he  did  n't  know  just  what ; 
and  so,  as  became  a  peace-lover  and  peace- 
pursuer,  I  frankly  told  him  all,  thus  insuring 
ourselves  "  the  freedom  of  the  city  "  during 
our  stay.  We  strolled  along  the  dusty  road 
220 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


well  on  into  the  country.  Coming  to  a 
beautiful  grove  of  oaks,  we  seated  ourselves 
on  the  grass  in  the  shade,  and  there  our  per- 
turbed spirits  found  repose.  Farmers  and 
their  "  women  folks  "  on  their  way  back 
from  town  eyed  us  curiously,  wondering  how 
it  had  happened  that  two  townspeople  old 
enough  to  know  better  had  strayed  so  far 
away  from  their  little  world. 

As  we  sat  by  the  roadside  "  getting  ac- 
quainted," the  distant  whistle  of  an  engine 
sent  a  thrill  of  dismay  through  our  souls. 
Could  we  make  our  train  ?  You  should 
have  seen  us  fly  over  that  dusty  road  !  You 
should  have  beheld  our  entry  into  the  car, 
our  faces  red  with  heat  and  dripping  with 
perspiration,  Mary's  hair  nearly  down,  the 
station  agent  following  us  into  the  car  with 
our  handbags,  his  broad  grin  advertising  our 
discomfort,  to  the  undisguised  amusement  of 
the  passengers. 

221 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


Back  in  our  home  city,  we  ate  our  supper 
at  the  depot  restaurant,  and  then,  taking  a 
carriage,  went  —  home  ?  Oh,  no  ;  we  had 
already  contributed  too  liberally  to  the  gayety 
of  others  ;  and  besides,  we  could  n't  think  of 
going  through  a  repetition  of  those  tearful, 
heartrending  good-byes.  So  we  simply  made 
a  farewell  call  we  had  intended  to  make  on 
friends  in  a  distant  part  of  the  city;  and  no 
one  was  the  wiser  for  our  little  mishap.  By 
midnight  we  were  well  on  our  journey. 

The  next  day  found  us  visitors  in  an 
ideally  beautiful  suburban  home,  a  large 
house  of  old  colonial  pattern,  set  down  in 
the  centre  of  a  forest  of  maples  and  elms. 
During  the  heat  of  the  day  we  sat  in  the  cool 
parlors  and  on  the  broad  verandas,  surrounded 
with  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  which 
abundant  means  could  supply.  In  the  early 
evening  we  enjoyed  an  invigorating  drive  be- 
hind two  splendid  bays,  famous  prize-winners 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


"  for  style  and  speed  combined."  At  night 
we  were  domiciled  in  a  room  so  elegant  in 
its  furnishings  as  to  make  us  feel  a  trifle 
homesick. 

But  amid  the  profusion  of  flowers  and 
music  and  rare  paintings  and  elegant  furnish- 
ings in  our  friend's  home,  there  was  scarcely 
a  moment  of  the  day  so  full  of  enjoyment  as 
to  crowd  out  of  my  thoughts  the  red  cottage 
on  the  hill  overlooking  the  river,  —  the  house 
where  our  babies  were  born,  "  my  own 
heart's  home." 

A  week  spent  at  a  great  caravansary  where 
all  the  world  seemed  to  be  under  one  roof  and 
bent  on  making  the  most  of  the  occasion.  A 
great  convention  was  in  session,  part  of  which 
—  a  very  small  part  —  I  was.  On  the  con- 
vention side  of  this  experience  I  have  only  a 
confused  memory.  I  recall  a  hastily  pre- 
pared paper  read  by  me,  which  some  were 
223 


AN  OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


good  enough  to  praise,  the  substance  of  which, 
for  the  life  of  me,  I  can't  recall.  I  took  part  in 
several  discussions,  intensely  interesting  at  the 
time  but  wholly  gone  from  me  now — all  but 
the  memory  of  a  woman's  face  looking  up  into 
mine,  and  a  woman's  wonder  that  I  had  dared 
to  speak  so  plainly  and  could  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  acquit  myself  so  well.  Had 
this  unconscious  flatterer  begun  on  her  subject 
a  score  of  years  before,  she  surely  would  have 
spoiled  him  for  any  usefulness  in  the  world. 
Now  I  know  my  limitations  too  well  to  be  set 
up  by  praise  so  evidently  prompted  by  the  heart. 
On  the  heart  side  my  memory  of  the 
week  is  clearer.  I  vividly  recall  our  first 
evening  on  the  veranda  with  the  delightful 
promise  of  a  whole  week  together,  and  with 
no  cares  to  infest  the  day ;  my  delight  on 
finding  that  one  and  another  of  my  profes- 
sional friends  were  drawn  toward  my  wife, 
whom  they  had  not  seen  before;  our  quiet 
224 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


—  relatively  quiet  —  meals  together  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  spacious  dining-room, 
far  more  enjoyable  than  the  banquets,  formal 
lunches,  and  dinners  which  the  reporters 
pronounced  "  delightful "  ;  the  chance  dis- 
covery of  "  elective  affinities,"  or  at  least 
promising  possibilities  for  future  friendships, 
among  the  women  and  men  we  met  at  table, 
in  promenades,  at  the  springs,  in  carriages, 
and  on  the  steamers ;  the  self-complacency  — 
ill-concealed,  I  fear  —  with  which  we  passed 
around  the  several  photographic  proofs  of  our 
children  which  had  been  mailed  us  from 
home,  ostensibly  that  we  might  obtain  a 
consensus  of  opinion  as  to  which  was  best, 
but  really  that  our  new-found  friends  might 
see  how  rich  we  were.  And  I  would  not 
fail  to  mention  the  long  heart-to-heart  talks 
in  our  room  before  breakfast,  with  no  children 
to  interrupt,  no  kitchen  queen  to  molest  or 
make  us  afraid  ! 

15  225 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


This  last  paragraph,  as  I  re-read  it,  can 
well  be  used  by  my  friends  as  an  argument 
against  late  marriages,  for  does  it  not  tend  to 
show  how  delightfully  narrowing  is  wedded 
happiness  when  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  a  man 
who  has  passed  beyond  the  period  of  all-round 
development  ? 

Presto !  We  find  ourselves  transferred 
from  a  drawing-room  car  to  a  little,  well 
tucked-up  stateroom  on  a  steamer  bound  for 
the  Saguenay. 

Our  brief  stop  at  Ste.  Anne  de  Beaupre, 
on  the  St.  Lawrence  below  Quebec,  is  de- 
voted wholly  to  the  huge  church  of  St.  Anne, 
with  its  faith-inviting  relics,  and  their  com- 
plement, the  hundreds  of  canes  and  crutches 
left  by  those  who  have  been  miraculously 
healed.  We  join  a  party  of  tourists  — 
believers  and  heretics  —  and  are  briskly 
sprinkled  with  holy  water  by  a  handsome 
226 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


young  priest  officiating  in  one  of  the  chapels. 
The  patronizing  smile  on  his  face  suggests 
the  irreverent  thought  that  perhaps  the  ton- 
sured Frenchman,  with  the  keen  sense  of 
humor  for  which  his  race  is  noted,  looks  upon 
his  part  in  the  scenes  daily  enacted  here  as 
simply  one  of  the  minor  roles  in  a  huge 
comedy,  of  which  the  holy  water  and  canes 
and  crutches  are  only  so  many  stage  proper- 
ties. But  doubtless  the  priest  really  takes 
himself  seriously,  and  his  smile  is  one  of  pure 
benevolence  when  bestowed  upon  those  of 
us  who  stand  before  the  chancel,  and  one  of 
genuine  complacency  when  it  beams  upon 
the  believers  who  devoutly  kneel  at  the 
chancel  rail. 

At  the  Murray  Bay  stop  we  somehow 
manage  to  engage  a  caliche  of  a  stupid  young 
French  Canadian,  who  stubbornly  refuses  to 
accept  Mary's  French  as  French  !  In  this 
primitive  vehicle  we  go  bounding  over  the 
227 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


rough  road  up  the  narrow  Murray  River 
valley,  our  little  pony  pluckily  hauling  us  up 
hill  and  down  hill  on  a  continuous  and  lively 
trot,  the  natives  coming  out  to  meet  us  with 
many  a  savage  pleasantry  hurled  at  our  driver, 
who  is  evidently  a  favorite  along  the  route. 

My  enjoyment  of  the  ride  is  slightly  marred 
by  my  wife's  suggestion  that  perhaps  the  na- 
tives think  we  are  on  our  wedding  journey ! 
And  then,  to  quiet  the  flurry  raised  in  my 
breast,  she  adds,  "Don't  you  think  that, twelve 
years  after,  our  age  should  protect  us  ?  " 

I  smile  cynically  and  answer,  "  On  the 
contrary,  the  evident  difference  in  our  ages 
doubtless  of  itself  suggests  a  recent  marriage, 
since  you  are  hardly  young  enough  to  pose 
as  my  daughter,  and  old  men  are  given  to 
marrying  young  wives.  And  then,"  I  add, 
after  a  pause  for  reflection,  "  your  spick-and- 
span  new  travelling  suit  must  strengthen  the 
illusion." 

228 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


"  And  your  spick-and-span  new  business 
suit,  with  the  unbroken  creases  in  the  trousers, 
should  make  the  illusion  complete,"  is  the 
wife's  defiant  but  illogical  retort. 

The  only  way  I  see  out  of  the  contention 
is  to  ask  her  if  she  does  n't  think  her  very 
evident  enjoyment  of  her  husband's  society 
may  convey  the  erroneous  impression. 

And  yet  she  is  not  satisfied  !  Her  quick 
response  is  that  several  times  she  has  been  on 
the  point  of  cautioning  me  against  a  certain 
over-fond  way  I  have  before  folks,  but  she 
had  n't  supposed  I  would  care  what  these 
dense  French  Canadians  would  think  of  us. 

"  I  don't,  my  dear,"  I  retort,  "  but  — " 
just  then  we  reach  the  top  of  a  hill  and  see 
strung  along  the  road  a  little  village  of  pic- 
turesque one-story  cottages,  and  to  my  relief 
the  view  claims  my  wife's  attention,  and  the 
subject  is  not  resumed. 


229 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


I  am  rarely  affected  by  historic  associations, 
but  must  confess  to  an  almost  sentimental  inter- 
est in  ancient  Tadousac,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Saguenay.  I  call  it  ancient,  for  my  Park-man 
informs  me  that  it  was  "  the  first  harboring 
place  of  civilization  "  in  the  New  World, 
the  spot  where  the  first  serious  attempt  was 
made  to  maintain  community  life  in  New 
France.  As  I  have  with  rare  self-denial 
made  up  my  mind  to  spare  my  friends  the 
regulation  semi-guide-book  description  of 
Montreal  and  Quebec,  I  may  perhaps  be 
indulged  in  a  brief  "  aside  "  at  this  point. 

We  climbed  the  high,  rock-ribbed  hill  in 
the  southwest,  and  seated  on  a  huge  boulder, 
looking  down  upon  the  scene  of  many  a 
tragic  event  in  the  history  of  New  France, 
our  minds  fresh  from  the  Parkman  histories 
traversed  the  centuries,  and  we  beheld  strange 
sights  in  the  narrow  valley  below.  We  saw 
Jacques  Cartier, "  bold,  keen-featured,  eager," 
230 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


standing  on  the  deck  of  his  little  vessel  on 
that  first  day  of  September,  nearly  three 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  and  gazing  wist- 
fully yet  suspiciously  on  this  "  gorge  of  the 
gloomy  Saguenay,  with  its  towering  cliffs 
and  sullen  depth  of  waters,"  its  narrow  valley 
swarming  with  savages,  his  ships  surrounded 
by  curious  natives  in  canoes,  to  whom  the 
white-faced  Frenchmen  were  as  marvellous 
as  if  they  had  descended  straight  from  the 
skies.  Our  minds  went  back  to  that  far-off 
autumn  when  Pontgrave  and  Chauvin  left  a 
handful  of  men  in  log  huts  down  yonder  on 
the  shore,  commissioning  them  to  gather  a 
winter  harvest  of  furs.  When  spring  came, 
the  only  harvest  found  to  have  been  gathered 
here  was  Death's.  And  later — just  two 
hundred  and  forty-one  years  from  the  day  of 
our  discovery  of  Tadousac  —  there  landed  on 
these  inhospitable  rocks  those  devout  Ursu- 
lines,  of  whom  Madame  de  la  Peltrie  and 
231 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


Marie  de  1'Incarnation  were  the  inspirers  and 
leaders,  who  sought  and  found  in  the  New 
World  the  crown  of  martyrdom  denied  them 
in  the  Old.  From  these  saintly  women  our 
thoughts  turned  naturally  to  the  little  Jesuit 
mission  chapel  down  there  on  the  northeast 
side  of  the  Saguenay,  which  in  1746  was 
built  on  or  near  the  site  of  several  other 
chapels  that  in  their  turn  had  been  destroyed 
by  the  enemy's  fire.  Later,  on  visiting  the 
chapel,  we  found  in  charge,  not  the  thin- 
visaged  and  grizzly  old-time  missionary  our 
imagination  had  pictured,  but  instead  a  fat 
and  well-favored  young  priest,  who  glibly 
told  his  tale  and  politely  accepted  our  con- 
tribution —  I  had  almost  said  his  fee.  Here, 
on  this  spot,  for  centuries  the  candles  were 
kept  burning  for  the  faithful,  except  when 
the  torch  of  the  savage  Indian  or  the  scarcely 
less  savage  white  foe  had  burned  the  altar  to 
the  ground. 

232 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


When  the  shadows  began  to  gather  in  the 
valley,  our  steamer  started  up  the  Saguenay. 
The  solitude  became  intense.  As  we  rounded 
one  point  after  another  in  the  river,  we 
seemed  to  be  pushing  on  from  one  solitude  to 
another  and  a  gloomier.  The  black  waters, 
reflecting  the  stars,  glistened  with  a  weird 
phosphorescent  glow.  The  sombre  wooded 
hills  seemed  draped  in  mourning.  The  jut- 
ting promontories  assumed  titanic  shapes. 
Sharp-featured  faces  peered  out  at  us  from 
the  rocks,  suggesting  the  spirit  of  the  savage 
Montagnais  whom  the  missionary  zeal  of 
the  French  could  not  save  from  the  demoral- 
ization of  French  greed  of  gain. 

As  we  neared  a  bend  in  the  river  a  bright 
light  startled  us  from  our  meditations,  and 
looking  up  we  saw,  well  up  from  the  water 
on  our  left,  a  mass  of  gold-yellow  flame  leap- 
ing from  the  tall  pines  and  deepening  the 
yellow  of  the  clouds.  As  we  neared  the 
233 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


spot  we  heard  the  hadean  music  of  the  flames, 
a  crackling  and  sputtering  as  if  the  earth  were 
melting  with  fervent  heat.  With  savage 
glee  the  elements  were  feasting  on  the  very 
heart  of  the  forest.  At  times  a  giant  of  the 
woods  would  topple  over  with  a  groan  and  a 
gasp,  and  then  a  million  sparks  would  rise  in 
celebration  of  the  elemental  victory. 

On  the  return  trip,  as  we  neared  the  twin 
peaks,  Trinity  and  Eternity,  rising  almost 
perpendicularly  from  the  water,  —  the  one 
eighteen  hundred,  the  other  sixteen  hundred 
feet,  —  a  rain-cloud,  silver-tipped  by  the  sun, 
enveloped  the  peaks  with  a  halo  which  seemed 
rightfully  to  belong  to  them.  A  slight  rain- 
fall gave  to  the  grayish-brown  gneiss  a  rich- 
brown  gloss  which  added  to  their  glory. 

As  we  paced  the  deck  after  the  shower,  I 
banteringly  reminded  Mary  that  the  unques- 
tionably nev/ly  wedded  wife  just  ahead  of  us 
was  leaning  on  her  lover-husband's  arm  no 
234 


OUR   FIRST   OUTING 


less  unconscious  of  surroundings  than  was 
she  herself. 

The  rebuke  I  richly  deserved  came  in  the 
form  of  words  :  "  In  this  presence  "  —  rever- 
ently looking  up  at  the  peaks  —  "why  should 
one  mind  what  others  think  or  say  ?  " 

I  confessed  I  had  blundered,  but  pleaded 
in  extenuation  that  my  mind,  not  over-strong 
at  best,  and  wholly  unaccustomed  to  great 
heights,  had  instinctively  dropped  from  the 
sublime  to  the  ridiculous  in  its  effort  to  find 
relief  from  overpressure. 

The  solemn  stillness  of  the  Saguenay  op- 
presses me  still.  The  river  seems  a  veri- 
table Styx,  as  in  fact  it  has  been  to  the  priests 
and  laymen,  to  the  soldiers  of  fortune  and 
the  savage  Indians  who  opposed  their  prog- 
ress. As  we  steamed  down  the  silent  river 
from  one  apparent  lake  to  another,  we  looked 
in  vain  for  flight  of  birds,  and  saw  few  signs 
of  human  habitation.  The  lasting  impression 
235 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


left  upon  my  mind  by  the  Saguenay  trip  is 
of  leagues  of  green-brown,  tree-covered  rocks, 
forming  a  deep  gorge  through  which  the 
brown-black  river  swiftly  flows,  and  over 
which  a  blue-vaulted  roof  is  spread  —  and  in 
the  background  of  the  picture  loom  the  twin 
peaks,  Trinity  and  Eternity. 

The  passage  through  the  rock-bound 
channel  from  the  sombre  Saguenay  to  the 
sunny  St.  Lawrence  was  a  relief  such  as  one 
experiences  on  closing  the  leaves  of  the  "  In- 
ferno "  to  listen  to  the  song  of  birds  and  the 
laughter  of  children. 


236 


XXVIII 

STORY   OF   SIX   HAPPY   YEARS 

DECEMBER  4,  1900 The  passing  of 
the  old  century  compels  retrospection. 
Looking  backward  on  this  the  twenty-eighth 
anniversary  of  our  wedding  night,  I  am  con- 
fronted with  an  unfinished  task,  a  promise 
unredeemed,  —  the  continuation  of  my  frag- 
mentary story  of  late-coming  joys. 

Six  years  have  passed  since  I  put  upon 
paper  my  last  confession  of  happiness  —  un- 
eventful but  resultful  years.  Lest  the  friends 
whose  acquaintance  dates  back  to  the  period 
before  the  new  life  came  to  me  should  sur- 
237 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


mise  that  my  long-continued  silence  may 
mean  the  failure  of  my  late  attempt  to  make 
for  myself  a  heaven  on  earth,  or  possibly  a 
temperamental  disqualification  for  sustained 
happiness,  I  am  strongly  moved  to  resume 
the  pleasant  task  begun  just  twenty-one  years 
ago  last  month. 

At  the  outset  let  me  state  that  whereas  I 
then,  at  times,  suspected  I  was  old,  I  now 
know  all  too  well  the  mysterious  fact  of  age. 
My  hand,  then  strong  and  free  from  sugges- 
tion of  tremor,  now  moves  laboriously  across 
the  page,  its  zigzag  lines  reminding  me  of 
the  rail  fences  of  my  childhood  days.  But 
for  Marie's  assurance  that  she  would  type- 
write these  pages  for  me  I  would  scarcely 
have  made  the  attempt  on  which  I  am  now 
begun. 

Twenty-eight  years  is  a  long  stretch  of 
time  even  for  old  eyes  to  traverse  —  long  and 
yet  how  short  !  What  would  I  not  give  — 
238 


STORY   OF   SIX   HAPPY   YEARS 

but  I  will  not  weakly  echo  the  wail  which  age 
has  vainly  uttered  ever  since  Adam  ceased  to 
delve  and  Eve  to  spin. 

Friends  of  other  days,  do  not  look  for  a 
consecutive  story  of  these  last  years.  All 
I  can  trace  to-night  on  the  smooth-worn 
tablets  of  memory  are  a  few  events  —  sur- 
prisingly few.  Perhaps  in  some  other  light 
another  group  of  events  might  stand  out,  but 
this  will  have  to  remain  as  the  only  record  I 
shall  leave. 

By  prudence  and  safe  investment  of  littles 
as  they  have  come  to  hand,  the  losses  of  my 
middle  life  have  been  in  part  made  good,  and 
I  now  have  the  comfort  of  knowing  that  my 
loved  ones  will  not  come  to  want. 

The  children  of  my  old  age  passed  safely 
through  the  ailments  and  diseases  incident  to 
childhood  and  are  both  well  and  strong.  The 
selfish  struggle  of  childhood's  years  for  su- 
premacy, one  over  the  other,  gradually  wore 
239 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


itself  out,  and  in  its  stead  has  grown  up 
between  the  sisters  a  self-denying  love,  the 
thought  of  which  brings  tears  to  my  age- 
weakened  eyes.  And  along  with  this  sisterly 
love  has  grown  a  fondness  akin  to  adoration 
for  their  mother,  and,  too,  a  devotion  to  their 
grandfatherly  father  which  I  have  never  seen 
outside  the  old-time  novels. 

The  dear  old  "  grandma,"  —  my  mother, 
who  so  long  and  patiently  waited  for  release 
from  the  growing  ills  and  ailments  of  age, 
whose  shut-in  life  here,  nearly  blind,  and 
with  rarely  a  sound  from  the  outer  world, 
seemed  to  her  needlessly  prolonged, —  the 
son-worshipping  mother,  whose  devotion  knew 
no  other  change  than  steady  growth,  was 
years  ago  laid  beside  the  children  of  her  youth, 
in  the  old  family  burying-ground  in  the  far 
East.  The  call  for  which  she  had  long 
waited  came  in  the  silence  of  that  night  on 
240 


STORY   OF  SIX   HAPPY   YEARS 

which,  fifty  odd  years  before,  she  had  watched 
through  the  long  hours  for  the  coming  of  the 
son  who  was  to  be  so  much  to  her  in  her  old 
age.  Not  in  agony  of  pain  were  her  last 
moments  spent.  Her  good-night  kisses  had 
been  given  then,  as  was  her  habit  of  mind, 
with  the  thought  that  they  might  prove  to 
be  the  last ;  she  had  lain  over  on  her  side 
and  fallen  asleep  —  that  was  all.  On  her 
wrinkled  face  there  was  rest  and  peace,  the 
peace  that  passeth  the  understanding  of  youth 
but  is  part  of  the  mystical  lore  which  comes 
to  souls  long  past  the  sunset  of  life. 

The  next  event  that  looms  up  large  in  my 
memory  is  the  departure  of  the  girls  for 
school.  Long  had  we  debated  between  our 
home  college  and  the  mother's  alma  mater; 
between  our  small  purse  and  our  large  am- 
bition for  our  children  ;  between  our  selfish 
desire  to  have  the  dear  ones  with  us  every  day 
16  241 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


to  brighten  our  lives,  and  a  heroic  purpose  to 
give  them  the  full  benefit  of  that  new  world 
beyond  the  horizon  on  which  they  had  gazed 
almost  unbrokenly  from  infancy, — the  new 
associations  which  in  our  time  had  meant  so 
much  to  us,  the  sense  of  individual  responsi- 
bility, the  self-reliance  compelled  by  new 
experiences. 

My  statement  of  the  case  begs  the  ques- 
tion. How  much  the  inevitable  decision 
meant  to  us  !  For  the  first  time  my  Mary 
realized  that  she  was  young  no  longer.  I 
had  long  felt  my  age;  had  Jong  been  pos- 
sessed of  the  fear  that,  after  all  my  dreaming 
and  planning,  I  should  not  live  to  see  the 
fruition  of  my  hopes  in  my  children's  lives; 
had  long  and  often  pondered  my  wife's  prayer 
that  we  might  die  on  the  same  day  and,  but 
for  the  children,  would  have  selfishly  echoed 
the  words. 

How  old  we  felt  as  we  drew  up  close  to 
242 


STORY  OF   SIX   HAPPY   YEARS 

the  hearth  that  chill  September  evening  after 
my  return  alone  !  I  could  not  fail  to  see 
over  my  reading  spectacles  the  wrinkles  in 
the  bereaved  mother's  face,  accentuated  as 
they  were  by  the  fitful  light  of  the  grate  fire. 
The  parenthetical  lines  inclosing  her  now 
firm-set  mouth  were  carved  deeper  than  ever 
before.  As  we  sat  there  well  on  into  the 
night,  most  of  the  time  her  hand  in  mine, 
her  head  on  my  shoulder,  I  told,  and  then 
retold  with  more  of  fulness,  and  later  with 
still  further  amplification,  the  story  of  our 
journey,  of  our  arrival,  our  reception,  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  furniture  and  pictures  in  the 
girls'  room,  their  first  appearance  in  chapel, 
their  old  father's  pride  in  their  simple  yet 
dignified  bearing,  the  gratifying  comparisons 
he  instituted  as  he  sat  watching  that  "  garden 
of  girls."  Recalling  the  scene,  the  two  on 
whom  his  heart  was  set  stood  out  as  promi- 
nently as  does  the  princess  in  the  puzzle- 
243 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


picture,  whom  one  sees  so  vividly  and  others 
cannot  see  at  all. 

And  so  my  story  ran  on,  until  I  reached 
the  parting  hour,  when  the  hot  tears  of  the 
girls  fell  on  my  face  and  I  broke  down  com- 
pletely. They  stubbornly  insisted  on  going 
with  me  to  the  depot;  but  I,  for  once  more 
stubborn  than  they,  too  well  knew  what  a 
spectacle  of  weakness  their  doting  father 
would  present,  and  so  insisted  that  we  have 
it  out  in  the  privacy  of  their  room.  After 
my  escape  from  the  ordeal  I  rushed  down- 
stairs and  out  into  the  street  as  fast  as  my 
tear-blinded  eyes  would  permit.  As  I  stood 
on  the  platform  at  the  station  it  seemed 
to  me  I  must  go  back  and,  gathering  my 
babies  in  my  arms,  take  them  home  to  their 
mother ! 

All  this  and  more  I  told,  concealing  naught 
of  my  pitiable  weakness,  where  I  had  thought 
to  be  so  strong. 

244 


STORY   OF  SIX   HAPPY  YEARS 

But  that,  too,  was  years  ago.  Since  then 
how  much  has  happened  to  them,  how  little 
to  us !  I  need  scarcely  set  down  the  in- 
evitable fact  that  the  two  who  went  forth 
mere  grown-up  girls  came  home  to  us,  four 
years  later,  in  all  respects  well-rounded 
women.  Their  old  high-school  admirers 
had  long  since  been  outgrown.  The  young 
collegians  of  about  their  own  ages  seemed  to 
them  strangely  immature  and  wanting  in  am- 
bition to  do  real  service  or  to  be  of  real  im- 
portance in  the  world.  Then,  too,  there  had 
crept  into  the  girls'  manner  toward  us  at 
home  an  indefinable  air  of  patronage,  too 
delicate,  too  agreeable,  to  be  resented  or 
resisted.  Had  we  been  younger,  this  new 
attitude  toward  us  might  have  been  trying  to 
our  sensibilities  ;  but  —  to  me  especially  — 
there  was  in  their  caressing  tenderness  the 
tribute  which  generous  youth  delights  to  pay 
old  age,  and  which  jealous  age  comes  to  ex- 
M5 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


pect  as  its  right,  or  at  least  as  a  compensation 
for  something  it  has  lost. 

But  I  would  not  pass  the  event  of  their 
graduation  without  a  word  of  comment.  It 
had  been  our  plan  from  the  first  to  keep  the 
girls  two  years  apart  in  their  studies,  as  they 
are  in  years.  But  the  prolonged  illness  of 
Ada  in  her  girlhood,  and  the  unbroken  prog- 
ress of  Marie,  brought  the  two  together  in  the 
college  classrooms,  and  together  they  were 
graduated. 

Ada  was  valedictorian  of  her  class,  and 
right  womanfully  did  she  perform  her  part. 
When  she  concluded  her  scholarly  oration 
with  the  few  words  addressed  to  the  presi- 
dent and  to  the  class,  though  many  about  her 
were  weeping,  her  large,  luminous  blue  eyes 
were  free  from  tears.  A  slight  tremor  in 
her  voice  alone  betrayed  the  emotion  trans- 
mitted to  her  classmates.  I  need  not  add 
246 


STORY   OF   SIX   HAPPY   YEARS 

that  I  was  proud  of  the  tall,  slender,  intelli- 
gent and  withal  attractive  young  woman  who 
so  well  voiced  the  strangely  mingled  gladness 
and  sadness,  eagerness  and  fear,  with  which 
young  womanhood  looks  out  from  college 
windows  upon  actual  life. 

How  shall  I  speak  of  the  second  one  to 
bring  honor  upon  us  on  that  commencement 
day  ?  She  too  was  tall,  but  more  robust  than 
her  sister ;  erect,  strong-limbed,  full-chested, 
large-waisted  —  large  as  compared  with  the 
fashion-plates  of  the  period ;  her  long  and 
thick  brown  hair  braided  and  fastened  in  a 
great  coil  loosely  hanging  well  down  her 
gracefully  sloping-  neck ;  the  rich  color  of 
her  cheeks  bringing  out  the  pink  whiteness 
of  her  complexion.  As  she  stood  listening  to 
the  president's  parting  words  and  waiting  for 
the  presentation  of  the  diplomas,  her  blue- 
gray  eyes,  half-ringed  underneath  with  heavy 
shaded  lines  such  as  actresses  affect,  glanced 
247 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


absent-mindedly  about  the  room,  then  settled 
upon  the  beautiful  scene  framed  by  the  big 
window  on  the  right.  On  hearing  her  name 
called  she  woke  from  her  reverie,  and  with 
the  ease  of  utter  unconsciousness  walked  to 
the  front  of  the  stage,  bowed  respectfully  but 
not  low  as  she  received  her  diploma,  and, 
oblivious  of  the  liberal  applause  which  greeted 
her,  calmly  returned  and  resumed  her  seat. 
Her  fond  father,  sitting  in  the  body  of  the 
house,  was  made  more  vain  than  before  —  if 
possible  —  by  comments  such  as  these  ex- 
changed about  him  :  "  A  beautiful  girl  ! " 
"  And  so  unconscious  !  "  "  Evidently  un- 
spoiled by  the  world  !  "  Ay,  thank  God  for 
that  ! 


248 


XXIX 

A   DAY    OF  DAYS 

DECEMBER  4,  1902.— A  red-letter 
day  this  in  our  family,  henceforth  and 
forever  more  !  On  this  day  thirty  years  ago 
my  Mary  and  I  were  wedded ;  and  on  this 
day,  in  this  year  of  grace  1902,  the  desire  of 
our  hearts  —  that  our  loved  ones  should  be 
well  mated  and  happily  married  —  found  con- 
summation. 

Too  deeply  stirred  to  think  of  sleep,  I  will 
devote  the  night  to  putting  upon  paper  a  few 
impressions  made  by  the  event  of  the  day, 
prefacing  them  with  an  outline  sketch  of 
occurrences  leading  down  to  that  event. 
249 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


They  met  "  the  usual  way  "  — by  seeming 
chance.  The  older  of  the  two  young  men 
whom  I  am  to  call  my  sons  is  the  junior 
member  of  a  metropolitan  law  firm  that  has 
four  names  on  its  letter-head.  He  had  been 
too  busy  to  think  of  matrimony,  and  his  brief 
vacations  had  been  mainly  spent  in  fishing 
and  hunting  in  the  Nipigon  region  somewhere 
in  Canada,  remote  from  civilization  and  from 
femininity.  The  uncertain  health  of  his 
father,  with  the  expressed  wish  of  his  mother, 
dissuaded  him  from  making  his  usual  trip  this 
summer,  but  not  from  taking  a  brief  rest  on 
the  shore  of  a  beautiful  inland  lake  within  a 
few  hours'  ride  of  his  home. 

There  he  met  an  invalid  friend  attended 
by  a  younger  brother  who  was  a  civil  engi- 
neer, and  whose  successful  experiences,  East 
and  West,  proclaimed  him  a  coming  man  — 
a  doer  of  the  word. 

A    lawn   party   at  a   neighboring   cottage 
250 


A   DAY    OF   DAYS 


where  our  daughters  were  visiting  was  the 
beginning  of  the  end  ;  to  which  sailing  parties, 
more  lawn-parties,  a  ball  at  the  inn,  and  the 
inevitable  golf,  were  all  together  contributory. 

Our  girls  had  planned  each  for  herself  a 
career  of  usefulness.  The  elder  was  to  be  a 
librarian,  and  had  expected  to  take  a  two- 
years'  course  in  an  Eastern  library  school. 
The  younger  had  seriously  thought  of  medi- 
cine and  surgery  with  a  view  to  a  career  as 
a  specialist.  Accustomed  now  to  their  ab- 
sence, I  was  pleased  on  the  whole  to  find 
their  ambitions  were  taking  a  practical  turn. 
When  they  started  for  the  lake  I  said  to 
them  : 

"  Let  your  projects  lie  in  fallow  for  a 
while;  have  a  good  time  and"  —  looking  at 
Ada  —  "  come  back  well  and  strong  for  what- 
ever work  you  may  decide  to  undertake." 

They  literally  took  my  advice.     They  had 
the  best  time  of  their  lives,  and  —  their  plans 
251 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


for  an  independent  career  are  still  lying  in 
fallow. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  girls'  return  came 
the  lawyer  and  the  engineer,  "  hunting  in 
couples,"  and  their  coming  brought  both  joy 
and  consternation  to  our  theretofore  quiet 
home. 

"  What  does  it  mean,  girls  ?  "  I  asked. 

Ada's  quick  answer  was,  "  Oh,  nothing, 
father.  You  don't  understand  the  ways  of 
young  men  nowadays.  All  there  is  of  it  is 
this  :  they  came  to  know  us  pretty  well  at 
the  lake,  and  so  they  thought  it  would  be 
nice  to  come  our  way  home  —  that 's  all. 
You  know  it  is  n't  much  out  of  their  way." 

I  turned  to  Marie  for  her  confirmation  of 
the  report,  but  she  was  gone. 

They  came,  looked  us  over,  and  finding 

in    us    no    insuperable    objection  —  lingered. 

A  college  friend  in  town  made  a  party  for 

them,  and  that  was  the  beginning  of  "  social 

252 


A   DAY   OF   DAYS 


activities  "  which,  after  ten  days,  compelled 
us,  in  Ada's  behalf,  to  call  a  halt. 

On  the  morning  following  their  announced 
departure  I  was  surprised  by  a  formal  visit 
from  the  young  men.  The  result  was  an 
engagement  with  three  distinct  "  ifs,  "  which 
my  conservatism  suggested  —  though  in  fact 
I  was  satisfied  that  the  girls'  hearts  had 
chosen  wisely,  as  I  had  already  made  full 
inquiry  and  found  no  flaws  in  the  records  the 
young  men  had  made. 

That  was  a  year  ago  last  fall,  and  now, 
while  I  write,  our  two  heart-treasures  are  on 
their  way  to  the  metropolis  under  the  gentle 
shepherding  of  two  young  men  who  love 
them  devotedly,  love  them  for  themselves 
alone — one  of  the  consolations  of  the  poor 
who  have  marriageable  daughters. 

"  But,"  my  lady  friends  will  say,  "  are  n't 
you  going  to  describe  the  wedding  ? " 
253 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


My  present  confusion  of  mind  and  my 
weak  wrist  and  arm  inform  me  that  I  can 
indulge  only  in  generalization. 

"  It  was  a  very  pretty  wedding,"  so  they 
all  said ;  but  I  guess  u  they  "  always  kindly 
say  as  much.  The  venerable  preacher  who 
performed  the  ceremony  is  our  old  friend  and 
pastor  who  thirty  years  ago  so  tenderly  pro- 
nounced the  words  that  made  us  husband 
and  wife. 

They  decided  that  it  should  be  a  home  wed- 
ding, "because  mother's  was,"  said  Ada. 
"  And  because  nobody  will  be  there  but  our 
real  friends,"  added  Marie. 

Our  little  house  was  redolent  of  flowers,  — 
flowers  everywhere.  The  tawny  face  of 
our  Ada  was  almost  pale,  but  her  head  was 
erect  and  her  step  firm.  The  pupils  of  her 
eyes  were  dilated,  and  there  was  a  slight 
tremor  in  the  hand  resting  so  confidingly  on 
my  arm.  At  the  dinner  table  her  humor 
254 


A   DAY   OF   DAYS 


was  irresistible,  but  we  who  knew  her  best 
sounded  a  hysterical  note  in  her  laugh.  We 
were  glad  when  the  evening's  strain  was  over 
and  she  was  safely  in  her  carriage  and  on  her 
way  to  the  depot.  Marie  was'  silent  —  not 
sulkily  dumb,  as  in  the  old  times  when  things 
went  wrong,  but  radiantly  silent  as  if  stricken 
dumb  with  a  miracle  of  grace.  All  seemed 
to  understand  it,  and  no  cloud  darkened  the 
occasion. 

I  have  no  talent  for  reporting  weddings, 
and  little  inclination  to  play  reporter  on  this 
occasion  ;  and  when  I  come  to  the  partings 
which  followed  the  feasting  I  dare  not  trust 
myself  to  speak.  They  were  harder  to  bear 
than  sudden  partings  are,  for  it  is  the  arrival 
of  the  inevitable  and  long-expected  that  wrings 
the  life  from  out  old  hearts. 

Let  me  close  this  labored  effort  with  what 
may  seem  to  be  a  commonplace  comment. 
The  young  men  and  young  women  who  are 
255 


AN   OLD    MAN'S  IDYL 


proud  to  claim  Ada  and  Marie  as  their  friends 
never  paid  them  a  rarer  compliment  than  by  the 
omission  of  all  the  silly  and  semi-brutal  pranks 
which  I  am  informed  are  still  played  upon 
newly  married  couples  on  their  departure  for 
their  wedding  journey.  To  me  such  pranks 
are  well-nigh  unthinkable  in  connection  with 
our  daughters  and  the  husbands  they  have 
chosen ;  but  in  this  irreverent  age  I  feared 
it  might  not  be  safe  to  rely  on  popular  respect 
for  anything  which  we  of  the  past  regard  as 
sacred. 


256 


XXX 

LAST  WORDS 

DECEMBER  31,  1902.—  Here,  on  the 
last  day  of  the  year,  I  arbitrarily  bring 
my  relation  to  a  close.  I  might  go  on  to  the 
end,  —  which  at  farthest  is  not  far  removed, 
for  I  need  no  physician  to  tell  me  that  my 
persistent  heart  grows  weary  and  must  soon 
cease  to  beat.  The  wonder  of  wonders  in 
the  physical  man  is  that  it  beats  at  all.  Who 
winds  it  up  ?  Who  regulates  it  and  keeps  it 
in  repair  ?  Think  of  the  work  it  does,  with- 
out vacation,  "lay-off"  or  strike!  Lying 
wrapped  up  in  bed  —  not  sick,  simply  lazy,  — 
17  257 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   IDYL 


I  have  turned  statistician  for  the  moment, 
and  by  a  lengthy  calculation  have  figured  that 
the  average  man  of  seventy  with  an  average 
of  seventy  pulsations  to  the  minute  has  been 
served  by  this  vital  organ  to  the  extent  of 
two  billion,  five  hundred  and  seventy-five 
million,  four  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
heart-beats!  Now,  since  the  word  of  the 
Psalmist  and  the  figures  of  the  actuaries 
practically  agree  that  the  natural  life  of  man 
is  threescore  and  ten,  and  I  have  already 
overdrawn  my  account  with  nature  to  the 
extent  of  nearly  two  hundred  million  heart- 
beats, I  need  no  word  of  authority  to  in- 
form me  that  if,  haply  (or  unhappily), 
my  days  be  lengthened  to  fourscore  years, 
they  must  inevitably  be  a  weariness  to  me 
and  to  those  who  should  care  for  me.  Cer- 
tain am  I,  however,  that  my  dear  ones 
will  not  be  wanting  in  the  least  detail  of 
loving  care. 

258 


LAST   WORDS 


And  why  should  n't  my  story  end,  as  in 
fact  it  should  have  begun,  with  a  marriage  ? 
I  know  that  the  great  epoch-making  books, 
from  "  Job  "  to  "  Faust,"  are  tragedies,  and 
that  in  those  tragedies  is  to  be  found  the 
whole  history  of  humanity ;  and  that  that 
history  is  little  more  than,  as  Goethe  puts 
it,  "  the  suicidal  destruction  of  man's  pursuit 
of  absolute  personal  freedom  and  self-satis- 
faction," or  as  the  wiser  Shakespeare  has  it, 
the  extraction  of  "  good  out  of  the  follies  and 
perversities  of  man  and  the  whole  motley  and 
contradictious  play  of  earthly  things."  But 
my  simple  narrative  is  clearly  not  a  drama, 
nor  is  it  biography,  for  its  contents  are 
wholly  circumstantial,  contingent  on  moods 
and  tenses.  It  will  therefore  be  excusable  in 
me,  if  not  positively  a  relief  to  my  readers, 
to  cut  short  my  story  before  the  inevitable 
break  shall  occur. 


259 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


I  attended  a  funeral  yesterday  of  "  a  still 
strong  man, "  young  in  years,  just  past  fifty, 
stalwart  of  mind  and  soul  as  in  figure,  keenly 
alert  to  every  sound  from  the  great  world  of 
activities  in  which  he  had  long  borne  a  la- 
borer's part,  a  captain  of  future  captains  of  in- 
dustry, an  inspiration  to  the  world  of  thought, 
in  which  he  moved  with  kingly  tread.  As  I 
looked  down  into  his  battle-scarred  face  and 
thought  of  how  much  another  quarter-century 
of  time  would  have  meant  to  him  and  to  his 
wife  and  children,  and  to  the  youth  whom  he 
was  born  to  lead,  I  forgot  for  the  moment  the 
joys  of  these  my  last  years,  the  comfort  I  had 
been  to  my  dear  ones,  the  little  and  steadily 
narrowing  world  of  friends  in  which  I  hold 
an  honorable  place,  the  larger  world  in  which 
I  had  borne  but  an  indifferent  part,  but  yet 
enough  to  give  me  deep  interest  in  its  every 
effort  for  progress  and  reform  —  1  forgot  all 
this  for  the  time,  and  from  the  depths  of  my 
260 


LAST   WORDS 


heart  I  asked  my  God  why  the  aged  weak- 
ling had  been  spared,  and  he,  the  strong  doer 
of  the  word,  had  been  stricken  down  in  the 
midst  of  his  resultful  and  far-reaching  activi- 
ties. The  preacher  in  his  funeral  sermon 
quoted  Sill's  masterly  epitome  of  Life : 

"  Forenoon,  and  afternoon,  and  night,  —  forenoon, 
And  afternoon,  and  night,  —  forenoon,  and  —  what! 
The  empty  song  repeats  itself.      No  more  ? 
That  is  Life  :  make  this  forenoon  sublime, 
This  afternoon  a  psalm,  this  night  a  prayer, 
And  time  is  conquered,  and  thy  crown  is  won." 

I,  too,  can  say  from  a  full  heart,  and 
from  a  memory  clearly  traversing  the  al- 
lotted threescore  and  ten,  that  that  indeed 
is  life :  "  Forenoon,  and  afternoon,  and 
night,"  and  so  on  and  on  through  days 
dark  and  bright ;  many  days  so  dark  it  has 
seemed  at  times  as  though  the  sun  were 
permanently  darkened  ;  and  other  days  — 
261 


AN   OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


these  last  days  —  so  fair  that  heaven  has 
seemed  to  lie  all  about  me  in  my  old  age. 
But,  as  in  infancy,  so  now,  whether  dark 
or  fair,  the  days  of  a  man  constitute  his 
life.  When  I  dare  to  think  of  wasted 
years  —  and  other  years  that  of  themselves 
seem  worse  than  wasted  —  the  daring  thought 
takes  flight  before  that  other  thought  which, 
as  I  remember,  was  given  voice  in  these 
recollections  away  back  somewhere  in  the 
seventies,  that  had  the  events  of  these  seem- 
ingly worse  than  wasted  years  been  other- 
wise, they  would  have  led  down  to  another 
series  of  events  than  that  which  I  have  tried 
to  outline,  in  which  the  dear  ones  who  have 
figured  in  these  pages,  whose  individualities 
mean  so  much  to  me,  would  have  had  no 
place  whatever. 

As  I  said  years  ago  when  I  began  to  think 
of  myself  as  old,  so  say  I  now  in  full  con- 
sciousness that   I  am  well  on   in   the   night 
262 


LAST  WORDS 


of  years :  u  Best  as  it  is,  or  it  had  not  been." 
Though  the  fierce  forenoon  of  my  life  never 
rose  to  the  exalted  level  of  the  sublime,  and 
though  life's  afternoon  with  me  was  not  in 
any  sense  a  psalm,  I  feel  I  can  with  heart  of 
truth  declare  that  the  delightfully  long  drawn 
out  evening-time,  with  the  star-illumined 
night  on  which  I  am  well  entered,  has  in- 
deed been  a  prayer.  During  the  past  thirty 
years  I  have  not  been  conscious  of  a  mo- 
ment when  the  attitude  of  my  soul  was 
other  than  that  of  thankfulness,  and  when 
my  sincere  desire  was  not  for  the  world's 
good  and  for  the  welfare  of  the  loved  ones 
who  have  made  my  last  years  idyllic,  — 
who  have  made  me  in  spirit,  as  in  life,  a 
new  man. 

If  it  is  true  that  in  the  life   beyond   we 

shall  meet  and  converse  with  those  who  have 

influenced  us  here,  I  shall  want  to  meet  my 

old  friend  Nicodemus  and  thank  him  for  his 

263 


AN    OLD    MAN'S   IDYL 


suggestive  question,  "  How  can  a  man  be 
born  when  he  is  old  ?  "  —  a  question  over 
which  I  pondered  long  some  thirty  years  ago 
—  a  question  to  which  these  pages  give  the 
answer  my  heart  has  come  to  know. 


THE   END 


264 


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